


Here Be Monsters

by harper_m



Category: Birds of Prey (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-09
Updated: 2009-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harper_m/pseuds/harper_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can Helena show Barbara she's good enough when all she seems to do is make mistakes? Even grand plans don't seem to work, but that might be Harleen Quinzel's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Be Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Some non-con elements toward the end, but this is not a non-con story.

Dr. Harleen Quinzel would have been one second away from going insane had she not already been there, though the tenuous tether she had on her ability to control her more sociopathic impulses was growing rather loose. Lately, nothing had been going right. Some cliched dark figure of good had flown onto the scene, putting major crinkles into her nice, smooth plan to take over New Gotham. At the rate things were going, she’d never be able to build the empire she wanted to develop and give over to her puddin’ as a ‘Happy Busted Free from Arkham’ gift. In fact, good help had become so hard to come by that she’d contemplated just simply giving up on the whole dual personality thing and getting everything in order herself, but the sharp, analytic side of her reminded her that it was best to be the brains behind the scenes and not the brawn on the front pages of the newspaper.

 

And then, added to that, one of her _formerly_ most interesting clients had suddenly gotten so boring that she momentarily gave serious thought to simply shooting the girl – not an idle threat when it came to her – and putting them both out of their collective misery. Helena Kyle had shown such promise early on that the good doctor had actually looked forward to her visits as a break from the tedium of mind-numbing sessions with obsessive-compulsives and manic-depressives. There was a hint of danger to her, easily visible in the hard to control aggression that played out so plainly on her expressive face. She was flippant and sarcastic, and Harleen had given many long, pleasurable hours over to thoughts of just how, exactly, she’d break the charming creature.

 

It appeared, though, someone had apparently beaten her to the punch, stealing all the delicious verve that had once made Helena so appealing. For three sessions in a row, it’d been nothing but Barbara, Barbara, _Barbara_ , and Harleen was ready to scream. Barbara does this, and Barbara says this, and why didn’t Helena just come out and say that she’d slit her wrists gladly like the love-sick puppy dog she was if only Barbara would ask her. It was sickening, really, to see the vacant, starry-eyed expression, and to be honest, Harleen had stopped listening to the other girl blather on about Barbara nearly a session and a half ago.

 

Straightening in her chair, blinking her eyes in an attempt to bring them back into focus and appear as if she were still paying attention to the sickening drivel spewing forth from the once captivating Helena Kyle’s lips, Harleen said shortly, trying to remember anything remotely relevant to the tale at hand and failing, “So, when did you go from being young ward to lover?”

 

There was a long pause, and Harleen looked up, a slight smirk creeping across her features as she noticed the guarded look on her client’s face. The silence said it all, and she sat up a little more, interested once again.

 

“Hmm. Could it be that you haven’t won the prize yet, Helena?” she drawled slowly, a hint of sarcasm laced through the words.

 

Dark brows lowered in anger, but Harleen merely smiled and continued blithely on, “You haven’t even made a move, have you? For the past three weeks, you’ve spent hours in here raving on and on about the glory that is Barbara Gordon, but she doesn’t have a clue about your little schoolgirl crush, does she? Surprising, really, that you’d be so… _weak_ about this, Helena. Such hesitance doesn’t seem to fit with your usual pattern of reckless disregard for consequences and tendency to impulsivity.”

 

Helena’s nostrils flared, fingers tightening on the arms of her chair with such strength that she could almost feel the hardwood giving away beneath her, but still Harleen continued, giddy with the knowledge that she was pushing both Helena and the boundaries a bit too far.

 

“Why so scared, I wonder,” she said contemplatively, tilting her head to the side and templing her fingers under her chin. “Let’s see what I know about Barbara. She’s older than you, at least seven or so years from what I can remember. A high school teacher who bakes muffin tops on the side, and manages to do it all from a wheelchair.” Somehow Harleen made it sound so distasteful, her voice skirting a fine edge between patronizing Helena and mocking Barbara, and Helena felt her muscles tense, ready to spring into action and forcibly shut up her doctor if the woman didn’t realize the need to do so for herself sometime soon.

 

Grinning gleefully, Harleen cocked a brow, pushing forward despite the anger she saw growing behind impossibly dark blue eyes. “Someone stable, responsible, and grounded, and no doubt looking for someone else who is the same. Almost a paragon, isn’t she?” she purred sarcastically. “And then there’s you. Young, angry and irresponsible, prone to breaking the law. You’re a bartender, hardly stable, respectable work. You like to party, to ignore and break rules and regulations, and you’ve got _quite_ the little attitude. It’s no wonder she’s not crawling into bed with you,” Harleen finished with a smirk, a second brow raising impertinently to join the first, enjoying herself more than she really should but not particularly concerned about it.

 

“Enough,” Helena snapped, pushing out of her chair and closing the distance between herself and the therapist in a flash, her body little more than a black blur in the few seconds before Harleen found herself inches away from burning dark blue eyes. Helena had trapped her in her chair, arms on either side of her and her body a very effective block, suddenly shrinking the space around the doctor down to nothing more than black leather and a roiling sheen of anger.

 

Ignoring the aggressive threat of her client’s stance, Harleen merely smiled and licked her lips, unable to push down the shiver of arousal that raced through her. This was the Helena she preferred, and she wasn’t coy enough to deny that she’d like her as more than a client. “Hit a little too close to home? Did the truth hurt?” she asked with a faux, sickeningly sweet and innocent tone, crossing her legs so her knees were pressed against Helena’s thighs, the heat of the other woman’s body burning into her.

 

For a moment, Helena struggled to hold back the urge to simply strangle the other woman, to beat her into submission for putting into words shortcomings she hadn’t even considered, for mocking her desires. Before, it had simply been her fear of upsetting the status quo, her certainty that she’d be rejected, that had stopped her. Now, though, she had actual, concrete and certainly logical reasons to back up her own fears from a supposedly impartial observer, and nothing appeared to be stacked in her favor. The mere concept infuriated her, not to mention the woman who had brought it to her attention. In response, the desire to hurt was nearly overwhelming, and she felt herself grow perilously close to giving in to it. But then, she noticed it… the aroused flare of dark pupils, the intoxicating perfume of desire. Shifting from aggressive to seductive within the span of a second, she shot the other woman a sensuous smile and said languidly, “Looks like you’ve got a few issues of your own, Dr. Quinzel. What about therapist/client distance? Not quite square with ethical guidelines to want to fuck a patient, is it?”

 

The doctor blinked slowly, her voice smooth and not at all rattled as she responded. “You’re the one who bridged the distance, Helena. Looking for a little affirmation? Can’t get into the pants of one reassuring Mommy figure so you thought you’d try another?”

 

“Fuck you,” Helena spat, blue eyes blazing.

 

One slim brow rising, Harleen looked down her patient’s form assessingly, taking her time before returning her gaze to Helena’s eyes. “Thanks for the offer, but our time is up. I think we made wonderful strides today, Helena. Let’s see if we can keep up this kind of rapport for next week.”

 

With a snort, whether of amusement or disgust Harleen wasn’t sure, Helena pushed away from her chair, striding out of the office without another word. The doctor watched her progress with a smile, a glint of anticipation in her eyes.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Helena was brooding. It wasn’t that it was particularly unusual for her to brood. In fact, after years of being a guardian and then just a friend, Barbara was quite used to the brunette’s penchant for indulging in depressive fits, but there was something different about this one. This one wasn’t quite the normal ‘weight of the world on my shoulders’ kind of wallowing, and as such, Barbara was concerned. In general, slightly depressed or slightly pissed off was a stable constant for Helena, both looks she wore well, but today she just looked… well, rather pitiful.

 

“Bad session?” Barbara asked softly, rolling over to rest beside the couch where Helena had flung herself when she’d entered the Clocktower nearly an hour earlier.

 

One bleary blue eye peeked out from underneath the forearm Helena had slung across her face, noting with dismay that the redhead was as close as she’d surmised she was. “Is there any such thing as a good session?” she asked wearily, arm dropping back down to once again shield her eyes. She’d retreated to her haven as usual, but for once just the simple nearness of Barbara’s presence hadn’t been enough to calm her. Dr. Quinzel’s words kept tracing their way through her mind, and with each successive passage, she realized just how true they really were.

 

Sighly softly, reaching out to push back the unruly hair scattered across Helena’s forehead but stopping herself at the last second, fingers hovering mere millimeters above the other woman’s skin, Barbara continued to prod. “Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. If you’re finally working through some of the issues that have been troubling you, then, in the long run, it can only be a good thing. Don’t get discouraged.”

 

Fighting the wave of nausea that accompanied Barbara’s little pep-talk, hating self-reassurance pop-psychology bullshit almost as much as she hated being coddled, Helena pushed herself upright, cool blue eyes focusing on soft green. She wanted to see the other woman’s expressions, which, though suppressed, always told her volumes more about what Barbara was actually thinking as opposed to what she felt compelled to say.

 

“Do you think I’m irresponsible?” she asked finally, voice harsh as sharp eyes searched the other woman’s face for any sign of reaction. There was very little, other than surprise that the question had been asked at all. It certainly wasn’t the follow-up Barbara had been expecting.

 

Brows creasing for a moment as she thought, a moment she shouldn’t have needed in Helena’s opinion, Barbara said finally, haltingly, “You carry a great responsibility, Helena. It’s one that I don’t think many people would have taken, nor been prepared to handle.”

 

Which was, Helena noticed with some small bit of amusement, essentially not an answer at all. “So you do think I’m irresponsible,” she surmised with a soft laugh, rolling her eyes.

 

Hedging, now a bit uncomfortable, Barbara tried to backpedal. “It’s not that I think you’re irresponsible. It’s just that I don’t think you’re well suited to responsibility in the traditional sense of the word. You are undoubtedly a talented, dedicated crime-fighter, but you’re not a nine-to-five kind of person, Helena. I think you’ve designed your life to fit perfectly around your temperament, and it works out well for you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

“But you wouldn’t trust me to, say, pay the bills here for six months. Is that it?” Helena asked a bit sarcastically, a sour feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t sure she liked the way Barbara saw her, even if it was a true reflection of who she was. The funny thing was, she’d never really given it much thought before. Sure, she was a little irresponsible, but she’d always just assumed that it only added to her appeal. She was a little bit of chaos in counterpoint to a well-regulated life, and for some reason, she’d thought Barbara had appreciated that. Now, though, she wasn’t so sure.

 

“I think you’re deliberately misunderstanding me,” Barbara shot back, slightly irritated at the resignation she saw in the other woman’s form. Seeing self-defeat in someone who had so much going for her always made Barbara angry. “You can do anything you set your mind to, Helena. I’ve seen you, so don’t pretend like you can’t. There’s no way to count the number of things you’ve done to make the world a better place. Not the least of which, I might add, would be the way you took care of me after…” Barbara said, stumbling slightly over the words, “… after the shooting.”

 

“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Helena said sharply, bitterly. For some reason, Barbara’s words, though comforting, didn’t actually manage to comfort her. It was all superhero _blah blah blah_ , you can do anything you want _blah blah blah_ , and if she’d been looking for a bit of good karmic reinforcement and assurance, she could have read a fucking Deepak Chopra book.

 

Frowning, not quite sure that the conversation they were having was the one Helena was actually hearing, Barbara asked, “Again, where is this coming from? Therapy?”

 

“It’s just,” Helena started, frustration written clearly across her features, “I don’t think I could ever do the whole white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a dog thing.”

 

Mired in confusion, thrown off balance by the apparently non-related statement, Barbara murmured, “Well, people like us… we’re not ever going to have that kind of life, so maybe that’s not such a bad thing. It’s one or the other, Helena. Normal life or this, and if you’re looking to trade out, then you need to let me know.”

 

“But _you_ want a normal life, don’t you,” Helena said plaintively, blue eyes focused on green with nearly painful intensity. “You want all that family stuff, with the kids and the minivan in the garage and soccer games after school.”

 

Barbara’s gaze hardened, her jaw tightening. “Those things aren’t available to me either,” she said slowly, her words calm and controlled. “You don’t have a stranglehold on being outside the mainstream. If you’re feeling confused or uncertain about all of this, then perhaps you need to take a little time off and see if you made a wrong choice somewhere along the way. This game,” she said, gesturing expansively at the Clocktower, “isn’t something you can half-ass. If you don’t want it, then you need to be out of it completely. Anything less than total dedication and you’ll get yourself killed.”

 

“What happened to being part of a team?” Helena muttered sullenly, curling in on herself. “Not that you don’t have my replacement all lined up and ready, just waiting for the day when I screw up and bite it.”

 

“Dinah?” Barbara asked with no little confusion, brows drawn together tightly.

 

“Yeah,” Helena shot back bitterly. “The little super-baby wonder. See her throw things with her mind. Watch her read your thoughts with just a touch,” she said mockingly, sneering. “What’s a girl who can just climb walls to do with that kind of competition?”

 

Growing increasingly annoyed, Barbara wheeled back slowly. “Why don’t you take some time to figure out just what it is you want, and when you’re in a better mood, then we can talk more,” she told Helena stiffly, trying to push down her anger. She didn’t know which statement among the many the other woman had made infuriated her more, but for the moment her desire to comfort had disappeared.

 

By the time Barbara made it back to her console, Helena was gone, flying across rooftops with no set destination in mind, sure that her plan, if she’d ever even had one, had gone horribly awry.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Helena looked at the woman appraising her coolly over the top of a thick piece of cream resume paper, sure for the fifth time that day that she was once again about to be summarily dismissed.

 

“Ms. Kyle, it says here that you’ve been a bartender for the past two years. Why the sudden desire to become a bank teller?” the woman, a Ms. Morrow, asked slowly, a small smirk flitting across her features, and Helena reined in her initial impulse to scratch the cocky woman’s eyes out.

 

Gritting her teeth, she said simply, “I’m looking for something a little more stable.”

 

“And the skills you currently possess… how do you anticipate incorporating them into a position here?”

 

There was something so smarmy about the woman, as if she found the thought of Helena working there to be hilarious in the extreme and was more than willing to poke fun at the brunette’s expense. So fine, Helena decided. Screw interviewing etiquette. It wasn’t as if she’d really been possessed by a burning desire to work there anyway.

 

“Well, I’ve got quite the wicked right hook. It’ll knock anybody out flat, no matter how big they are. You’ve got to get less than friendly customers in here from time to time, but you wouldn’t have to worry about security with me on the job. Two years of reading drunks’ handwriting on bar tabs ensures that I’ll always get check amounts right. I’m intimately familiar with ATMs, having used them myself for at least four years now, and have been balancing my own checkbook for probably a little over five. All you need to know is how to fucking add, anyway, and I can assure you that I never get the little plus and minus signs mixed up,” she sneered, unable to take any more condescension. “So you know what… fuck this. You can take your job and shove it straight up your ass. I could be a fucking billionaire if I wanted, so I don’t know why the hell I’m even here. It was a stupid idea.”

 

The other woman, having apparently decided that it was no longer necessary for her to play the demure interviewer, smirked broadly at Helena’s outburst. “More like fucking a billionaire,” she muttered under her breath with a snide snicker, eyes flicking toward her office door to make sure it was still closed.

 

Eyes narrowing, Helena felt her anger grow to nearly unmanageable proportions at the taunt. It was the last straw, really, in a day of increasingly shorter straws. So she hadn’t gone to college. So she hadn’t built up an impressive work history. So she hadn’t actually had a regular day job before. So she didn’t own any business suits and hadn’t taken seminars on how to interview for success. She risked her life night after night to save assholes like the woman sitting in front of her, not-so-subtly mocking her just as the previous four before her had done, and it was simply too much.

 

Hands that were itching to rip the woman apart limb from limb settled upon grabbing the chair she had been sitting in and lifting it above her head. For a moment, she was intensely gratified by the look of sheer terror in the other woman’s eyes at the easy way she hefted the piece of heavy, expensive furniture, at the imposing figure she cut in her fury. And then, even as a voice in the back of her head screamed at her to stop, she hurled the chair toward the plate glass window behind the woman, noting with some surprise that it simply shattered against what she now surmised to be bulletproof glass. Splintered pieces of demolished hardwood rained down around the office as the seat fell heavily to the floor, landing with a loud thump and skittering off to the side.

 

It had been a stupid thing to do, to give in to her more violent impulses that way, and she watched with a frustrated detachment as the woman dialed furiously for security. Slumping to the floor in resignation, knowing it was fruitless to try and run even though she didn’t for a moment doubt her ability to get away, Helena merely waited. She wasn’t going to use her powers against an effectively helpless security guard. Not that it would matter anyway. Her resume and all of the personal information that one required to track her down was sitting squarely on the desk in front of her. Even if she had snatched it before running, she sincerely doubted that Ms. Morrow would ever forget her name.

 

The ride down to the police station was long and even more depressing, and Helena tried desperately to spend the time thinking of anything other than how Barbara was going to react to her latest indiscretion. Quinzel had been right about her. She was a fuck-up and there was nothing she could do about it. Barbara would never want to become involved with someone who couldn’t even hold her temper in the face of a little mocking, who terrified bank officers and shattered otherwise perfectly respectable mahogany furniture.

 

Gritting her teeth at the sight of the far too familiar building, getting ready to go through the booking process yet again for another destruction of property charge, Helena did nothing to work on improving her increasingly dark and volatile mood. Maybe she should take Barbara’s advice and take a break. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this superhero gig. Perhaps there was something in her fundamentally unsuited to protecting the public good, and she had simply been doing it all for the wrong reasons. The wrong reasons being, of course, her libido and her desire for a certain redheaded resident genius, not to mention the socially acceptable opportunities for handing out beatings. Maybe she was too much like her mother, too full of ambiguities and gray areas to ever really fit into the world she currently inhabited.

 

Much to her surprise, Helena bypassed the booking area completely, and was roughly pushed into an interrogation room instead. For a moment she was terrified that the police had somehow found out that she was the Huntress and that they were going to try and force something from her… her secret identity, her cooperation, her promise to stay out of their way. Whatever it was, she couldn’t imagine the deviation from routine to be a good thing, and with a growing sense of urgency and claustrophobia, waited to see exactly what her fate would be.

 

She was in the midst of working out an escape plan that involved the ventilation ducts and airplane tickets to Columbia when the door opened and a familiar soft hiss of wheelchair wheels against flooring tickled her eardrums, drawing a resigned sigh. “Barbara,” she said flatly even before the figure in the wheelchair made her way past the door and into the room.

 

Waiting until the door was closed and they were alone, thoroughly conscious of the fact that one could never be truly alone in a room with a one-way mirror, Barbara wheeled over so that she was inches away from Helena, a look of frustrated concern etched across her features. “Care to tell me what happened?” she asked, genuinely perplexed. Even after searching her mind for possible reasons, she still couldn’t figure out why Helena had been where she had been, nor why she would have done what she had done.

 

“No,” Helena said stubbornly, dropping her forehead down so that it rested on the hard wood of the table in front of her, not quite sure she could take looking at Barbara.

 

The room was silent for a moment as Barbara waited for Helena to continue and Helena waited for the world to end. Neither happened, so after a few minutes, Barbara sighed softly, the sound one of aching disappointment that seemed to scrape away the top layer of Helena’s skin, leaving her raw, bare and exposed. “You’re lucky that an old friend of my father’s was working the desk today,” Barbara said stiffly, not sure what to do with the figure currently slumped over in dejection in front of her. “You’re not going to be charged and the bank has already received a check that is more than sufficient to cover any of the damage you may have caused. But Helena, you can’t keep doing things like this.”

 

“I didn’t mean to,” the brunette muttered, her voice contrite.

 

There was a disbelieving scoff, and then, “How can you _not_ mean to hurl a one-hundred pound piece of furniture at a plate glass window with enough force to demolish it completely?”

 

Well, when put that way…

 

“She just made me mad, that’s all,” Helena said awkwardly, well aware of how inadequate it was as an explanation even as the words crossed her lips.

 

“She made you mad,” Barbara repeated slowly, disbelievingly. “And for this, you throw a temper tantrum of such monumental proportions that you end up in jail?”

 

Helena sighed again, then wished her mother was still alive. If anyone would have understood, her mother would have. It wasn’t as if she always had a firm grip on her emotions or her actions. Sometimes they ruled her completely instead of the other way around, and only someone who had ever experienced the phenomenon themselves would know what it was like to not be able to control certain impulses. Her mother was most certainly one of those people, the kind who had acted on instinct without thinking more times than not. Often it worked as an advantage, adding an almost instinctual edge to fights and logic. Other times, though, it backfired horribly.

 

“So do I get to go home now?” Helena asked, pushing up off of the desk, tired of the interrogation and the disappointment. She just wanted to go home and sulk.

 

For a moment, Barbara didn’t say anything. There was a stark, unforgiving despair in Helena’s eyes, an emptiness to her expression, and it shocked Barbara, instantly draining away all of her ire. Suddenly, it didn’t matter quite so much why Helena had done what she had done. Instead it became imperative that Barbara chase away the demons she could see haunting the other woman, that she fix whatever it was that had made Helena look the way she did.

 

“Helena…” she said softly, reaching out to cup the other woman’s cheek. Helena allowed the contact for a moment, stretching to rub sleekly against Barbara’s palm, conversely comforted and inflamed by the simple touch of the other woman’s skin against her own. But then she realized what she was doing and pulled back, her chair flying across the room as she stood abruptly, turning so that her back was to Barbara, arms crossed protectively across her chest.

 

“I just want to go, Barbara,” Helena rasped, squeezing her eyes shut.

 

Barbara traced her thumb and forefinger over her eyebrows, the massaging motion doing little to dissipate the tension pulling tightly at her skin. She felt helpless, impotent against the inscrutable emotions driving Helena, against the plainly visible front of self-loathing she could see in the other woman’s eyes. It seemed as if she were forever scrambling to catch up, always just barely grabbing on to the tail end of whatever space Helena was occupying at any given moment, there just long enough to realize things had changed. It was a constant feature in her life, the sense of uncertainty, of the chaotic imbalance that came with living with and knowing the brunette. For once, she would have liked to have been able to pin something down, to know exactly what was going on and what would make everything calm once again.

 

“Why can’t you trust me, Helena?” she asked softly, defeat coloring her tone. “Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on with you? It’s always a guessing game, and I’m running out of guesses. I can’t help you if I don’t know you, but you don’t ever let me in.”

 

The words elicited a sharply inhaled hiss from Helena, and Barbara watched as slim shoulders tightened, as every line of the other woman’s body grew rigid with tension. “I’m not some improvement project, Barbara,” Helena muttered, head dropping down and to the side, her profile barely visible over the curve of her left shoulder. “I don’t want you to fix me.”

 

“Then what do you want?” Barbara asked simply, becoming increasingly frustrated. Talking to Helena could be like banging her head repeatedly against a brick wall. The wall certainly wasn’t going to give, and she would only end up with a raging headache, bloody and bruised for her trouble.

 

Sighing, the words spoken so softly that Barbara wasn’t even sure she’d heard correctly, Helena whispered, “It doesn’t matter. I can’t have it anyway.”

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Harleen watched her client with an almost unnerving, predatory intensity, her gaze never wavering as she sat, unblinking. Helena hadn’t spoken in the fifteen minutes she’d been in the office, merely sitting with her jaw clenched firmly shut and her arms crossed over her chest, her body a picture of angry resentment. Resisting the urge to tap her fingers, to uncross and recross her legs, to do anything more than sit motionless, waiting with a seemingly endless patience, Harleen continued on, determined to win the game.

 

Finally there was a break, the soft creak of leather as Helena moved, the barely audible whispering tease of a sigh, and Harleen smiled, seeing her opening. “Trouble in paradise?” she asked with a smirk, inwardly very pleased with herself. As of the week before, her patient had become interesting once again.

 

Refusing to be baited, Helena murmured, “No, just the usual. A little vandalism, some destruction of property. I felt it was time to get reacquainted with my local New Gotham police force. Catch up with the boys and girls in blue, you know.”

 

“Hmmm,” Harleen purred, her pose losing some of its rigidity as she settled into the repartee, “someone’s been a bad girl again. Can I expect an extension of our little court mandated sessions to be forthcoming?”

 

Sniffing lightly, Helena replied archly, “I’m afraid not. Barbara pulled a few strings, so my record will remain as spotless as ever.”

 

“Barbara?” Harleen asked, interest spiking her tone. “Oh, that’s right. She is Commissioner Gordon’s daughter, isn’t she?”

 

Helena nodded grudgingly, embarrassed yet proud. Some part of her was a bit ashamed of the way she had used Barbara. Or, perhaps, of the way she’d allowed Barbara to clean up her mess. On the other hand, it felt really, really good to know that the other woman would go through the trouble to call in a favor for her, especially when she knew just how little Barbara liked putting herself in anyone’s debt or using her father’s influence.

 

“So why fix this and not do anything about the little incident that landed you here?” Harleen asked sharply, genuinely interested.

 

Pursing her lips, Helena said scathingly, “Because Daddy’s money couldn’t buy my way out of that one. Last time, it was public property, and New Gotham wasn’t in a particularly forgiving mood. Besides, I’d already been through booking by the time Barbara found out about it. Somehow, she knew about this one before I’d even gotten to the station. A little phone call to an old friend of her father’s, a nice big check to pay for the damage, and it was no big deal.”

 

Harleen arched a brow at that, eyes full of mischief. “So, Barbara wasn’t at all concerned that you’d managed to get yourself nearly incarcerated yet again? It didn’t bother her in the slightest?”

 

Frowning, Helena snorted, “Not hardly.” Barbara’s ire might have been muted, but it certainly hadn’t been non-existent.

 

Tapping her forefinger against the arm of her chair, eyes narrowed slightly with barely suppressed malice, Harleen asked pointedly, “How many more chances do you think you have, Helena? I can’t imagine Barbara will be happy to clean up after you forever. How long before you become more of a liability than an asset, hmm? What do you really bring to the relationship? When will you become more trouble than you’re worth?”

 

“Barbara would never leave me,” Helena shot back heatedly, feeling the familiar tension of anger coil around her spine. The mere thought was abhorrent. They’d been together too long, had been through too much together. Barbara wouldn’t abandon her, not after all this time and certainly not simply because she had an unfortunate tendency to wind up in trouble. They were family. There was no friend to it. They were more than friends… bound together, really, by something far stronger than blood. They’d chosen one another, had stayed together not because they had to but because they wanted to. Barbara wouldn’t give that up. Would she? Even if she had suggested Helena take a break to reevaluate her priorities, that was just business. And anyway, even if she wasn’t the Huntress, Barbara would still want her around. Right?

 

A soft chuckle met her words. “But Helena, you’ve got to have Barbara before she can leave you. Other than your friendship, which quite frankly seems more parasitic than symbiotic, what hold do you have on her?”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Helena said bitterly, feeling her insecurities start to once again make their way to the surface. So she wasn’t perfect, and living with her could be far from easy. If Barbara had wanted her gone, then she would have said so, right? It wasn’t just that the redhead was keeping her around as nothing more than the legs of the operation. It wasn’t as if she was the clichéd, expendable superhero.

 

But… but…

 

There was Dinah. Sure, Barbara hadn’t gone out and actively recruited her, but she certainly hadn’t sent her back home and she hadn’t balked when the girl suggested taking a more active role in their activities. Hell, she’d practically entrusted the girl to her care, expecting the brunette to train her, to make her the best she could be. Barbara just wanted to take some of the burden off of her shoulders, right? To make it so that she didn’t have to patrol every single night, and so that she’d have someone there for back-up when it was needed. Not because she figured Helena would soon find herself on the wrong side of a low statistical probability of survival. Not because she didn’t want to have to deal with the lag time between the loss of one blindly heroic figure and the training of a new one. And, most certainly not because she was going to suggest that the Huntress make an early departure from the crime-fighting game.

 

She had to mean more to Barbara than that, didn’t she? But then, it wasn’t as if she’d ever really managed to make herself all that important to anyone else. Her mother, certainly, but her mother didn’t count. Her mother really hadn’t had a choice in the whole matter. Not like her father… who hadn’t even bothered to stick around long enough for a, “Hey, sorry I missed the first 16 years of your life. Want to get together for lunch sometime and catch up?”

 

But, just because he’d left, that didn’t mean Barbara would. They were nothing alike. Except for their steadfast devotion to the cause, the tendency to lose themselves in their work, the hidden, haunted part of themselves they tried to sublimate in the throes of following a higher calling. Most certainly not in the way they put the needs of others and of society above themselves, going so far as to sacrifice loves and limbs if necessary.

 

Harleen watched in fascination as a parade of emotions made its way across Helena’s face. There was such resentment there, such anger and hatred and rage all waiting to break free. She could use this girl, could break her and remake her, could add her to an ever-growing arsenal of weapons. Form her into yet another soldier ready to sacrifice for the cause. All she needed was a little time.

 

“Oh, I think I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Harleen said with quiet self-satisfaction, basking in the look of absolute and utter animosity sent her way. Deciding, though, that she needed to rein things in a bit, she affected her best concerned voice, injecting as much support as possible into her gaze. “That’s what I’m here for, Helena. To help you see the truth and accept it, no matter how much you try to hide from it. Sometimes the people we want don’t want us in return. But, it’s not the end of the world. Trust me, there’s so much more out there for someone like you.”

 

Resisting the urge to scream out her frustration, Helena rose from her chair, striding quickly from the room, the sound of Dr. Quinzel’s soft laughter following her down the hallway.

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Barbara was about to take a sip of her freshly brewed tea when Helena made her announcement, and thus could only be glad that she didn’t have feeling in her legs, because she was sure that the scald of it landing in her lap would have been quite painful otherwise.

 

“You want to what?” she sputtered, eyes rounding in surprise.

 

“Take over Wayne Industries,” Helena repeated breezily. “The Bat left it to me, didn’t he? Well, I’d say it was about time that I checked in on my inheritance.”

 

“That’s crazy,” Barbara scoffed, wincing at the sight of the shattered remains of what had once been her favorite coffee cup scattered across what had once been her clean floor. “You don’t have any background in business.”

 

“Well then, I guess I’ll just run the company into the ground then, won’t I?” Helena replied flippantly, hopping up to settle herself on the kitchen counter, hands propped against the edge of the polished concrete top.

 

“Be serious, Helena,” Barbara said sharply, glaring at the brunette as she carefully wheeled her way around the small puddle of tea slowly inching its way across slate tile to retrieve a roll of paper towels. “Wayne Industries employs thousands of people. You can’t just play with their lives like that simply because you’re having some kind of crisis.”

 

Brows lowering in anger, Helena shot back, “I am being serious. I can’t be a bartender all my life, you know.”

 

“So what? You can’t get a job as a bank teller, so you decide to attempt to take over leadership of one of the largest corporations in the world instead?” Barbara scoffed, wincing slightly at the look of hurt that instantly closed off Helena’s features.

 

Voice deadly soft, Helena asked, “How’d you find out about that?”

 

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Barbara said, “Did you think I was just going to accept your complete non-explanation of what led up to the little chair smashing incident? I still can’t believe you felt the need to terrify a bank employee and throw a chair at a window just because you got turned down for a job.”

 

“Five,” Helena muttered, drawing a raised brow from Barbara.

 

“Excuse me?” the redhead asked in confused frustration, not at all following Helena’s train of thought.

 

Clearing her throat, Helena looked up, shame and defiance mingling in her eyes. “I got turned down for five jobs that day, and it wasn’t so much the fact that she practically laughed in my face during the interview as it was her insinuation that I was a brainless slut that really pissed me off.”

 

Befuddled, Barbara said in exasperation, “I don’t understand why you were even looking for a job anyway, Helena. What’s wrong with the job you have? Did you get fired? Can you not pay your rent? If you’re having some kind of trouble, you know I’ll help you out in any way I can.”

 

Jumping from her post, pacing in nervous agitation from one end of the counter to the other, barely missing the splash of glass shards on the floor with each pass, Helena said irritably, “I don’t want your help. You’re not my keeper, Barbara. I can take care of myself. I’m not a liability, and I’m not a charity case.”

 

Utterly bewildered by the other woman’s defiant attitude and seemingly random assertions, Barbara shook her head, mouth opening to argue but barely able to find the words to refute Helena’s claims. “I never said you were a charity case. I’m fully aware that you’re a competent adult, but that doesn’t mean you can’t come to me for help when you need it, Helena. Everybody has to ask for it some time.”

 

“Not you,” the brunette nearly hissed, spinning abruptly so that she was facing Barbara. “You’re always so together, so fucking self-sufficient. You don’t need anyone, and most definitely never ask for help. At least, not from me.”

 

“That’s not true,” Barbara retorted heatedly. “I ask for your help every single day.”

“No, you have me run your errands, Barbara,” Helena said cynically, pouting slightly. “Trust me, there’s a difference.”

 

Barbara felt herself growing defensive, angry replies springing to her lips more rapidly than she could filter them for content. “No, I’m forced to depend on you because I can’t do it myself. Don’t you think I’d much rather be out there fighting alongside you than being stuck here as little more than a glorified cheerleader?”

 

“ _Forced_ to depend on me?” Helena echoed angrily, not quite ready to tackle the rest of the minefields laid by Barbara’s reply. “What, are you just waiting until a more agreeable replacement happens along? Oh wait, you’ve already found one, haven’t you. Maybe you’re just waiting until I have her primed and ready for you. Is that it? I get to train my successor before you retire me? What’s the severance package for a job like this? Thanks and get the hell out?”

 

Bringing her hand to her forehead, unsure how she’d managed to let the argument escalate or why she’d even felt the compunction to participate in it in the first place, especially considering the foul mood that had been following Helena around for weeks, Barbara sighed. “You know that’s not true, Helena, but if you insist on believing it, then I suppose there’s nothing I can do, is there?” She paused, then added tiredly, “ I would have thought that you knew me better than that.”

 

“I thought I did,” Helena replied caustically, arms crossed protectively over her chest.

 

Her memories of Barbara were getting all mixed up with Dr. Quinzel’s words and her own doubts and insecurities, and suddenly Helena couldn’t think, couldn’t make everything slide neatly back into its appropriate slot. It was all swirling around in her brain without order, coloring her world in a violent mix of angry reds and grating yellows. She felt trapped, and every slight sensation suddenly had the powerful impact of a jarring blow. There were Barbara’s eyes, too green and too all-knowing and too insightful and too beautiful all at the same time, watching her as if she’d suddenly metamorphosed into a strange, exotic and deadly creature. There was the earthy sweet smell of the rapidly cooling tea, something that suddenly seemed so entwined with the very essence of who the redhead was that Helena was uncertain she would ever be able to stand the scent of it again without being painfully reminded of this moment. Of Barbara’s disappointment. Of her own failings.

 

Of course the other woman wouldn’t ever want her, not as an equal. She was a monumental fuck-up, unable to do even the simplest of things without wrecking it completely. A quick glance down to the remnants of Barbara’s cup seemed to reinforce that fact with the force of a hammer’s blow. She was like that, shattered and empty, worthless really.

 

With a stifled sob, Helena fell to the floor, scooping the broken glass into a pile with her bare hands, only vaguely aware of the slice and pinch of sharp edges cutting into her skin. There was blood mixing with the tea, staining the weak brown a darker burgundy, but she didn’t care. She needed to fix things, needed to stop being such an impediment to Barbara. To stop being a burden.

 

“Helena… Helena… HELENA!”

 

Helena finally looked up at the sharp tone, meeting Barbara’s soft, compassionate gaze with wide, frightened eyes.

 

“What are you doing?” Barbara asked gently, rolling over so that she was only inches away from Helena’s crouched form, looking at the other woman’s now bloody hands with a kind of resigned sadness.

 

“I… It’s my fault it’s broken,” Helena said awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of just how she had to look, kneeling there in a pool of cold tea and her own blood, hands still cradling a pile of broken, jagged glass. “I know how much you liked this cup. It was your favority, and… and… I’m sorry.”

 

“Helena,” Barbara sighed, a frustrated grimace dimpling her cheeks, “it wasn’t your fault. Why don’t you throw away the glass you’re holding while I go get the first aid kit? You’re going to have to let me see your hands.”

 

Looking guiltily at the floor, Helena nodded, wishing she could bang her head against the cabinet in frustration. Barbara had the ability to turn her into a psychotic, slightly insane mass of contradictions and uncertainties, reducing her capacity to function as a normal, well-adjusted individual to somewhere around zero.

 

She’d managed to clean up the glass and spilled tea and wash the worst of the blood off her hands by the time Barbara returned, but the perplexed look the redhead sent her way at first sight of the myriad cuts marring the surface of her palms and fingers and streaking down the side of her hands made Helena wince. She must have clutched the shards a bit harder than she’d realized, especially to cause the kind of damage she had.

 

Barbara pushed Helena in the direction of the kitchen table, indicating with a distracted wave that she should pull out a chair. When the other woman was seated, she reached out, gently pulling the still bleeding appendages into her lap. She’d spread a thick white cotton towel over her upper thighs, but Helena could still feel the lean contours of Barbara’s legs through the lush cotton and the fabric of her pants, the sensation making her skin itch with anticipation and frustration.

 

The touch of soft fingers against her own drew her out of a contemplation of just what it would be like to touch those thighs without the encumbrance of barriers between her hands and Barbara’s skin. She looked up to find Barbara tracing her eyes over Helena’s flesh, eyes liquid with unreadable emotion. Actually, she looked almost sad, and Helena watched, transfixed, as Barbara’s fingertips became stained with her blood. It was still flowing freely, if a bit more sluggishly than before, and there was something about the sight of it on the other woman’s hands that made her freeze. She’d looked like that once before, fingers and palms and arms slick with hot, vibrantly red blood, and she closed her eyes, blocking out the memories as best she could.

 

The sharp, startled inhalation of breath must have drawn Barbara’s attention from the reverie she’d fallen into, because she began to clean Helena’s injuries, her touch light and sure.

 

“Why do you do these things?” she asked softly, contemplatively. “Why do insist on hurting yourself?”

 

Helena didn’t have an answer, more than aware of the fact that Barbara was asking about far more than the cuts currently visible on her hands. There was an insight to the question she didn’t want to face, and so instead she remained silent, watching as if mesmerized as Barbara rubbed her hands down with antiseptic ointment, as she bound them securely in strips of stark white gauze. When she was finished, Helena noted wryly that she looked almost like a prizefighter minus the gloves.

 

The silence stretched out between them until Barbara leaned forward on a sigh, fingers gently but firmly pulling Helena’s chin up so that their eyes were locked. Dark blue attempted to avoid the piercing intensity of incisive green, but Helena found she couldn’t, that her eyes were drawn inexorably upward as if by the sheer force of Barbara’s will. There was something there, something indefinable but hauntingly familiar, something she half-thought she’d seen in the mirror before. Longing, repressed desire… something she was fairly certain she wanted. Something she was completely certain terrified her.

 

Struggling to breathe, suddenly conscious of the almost unnatural thickness of the air, Helena pulled back sharply, unable to face the unvoiced questions weighing down the space between herself and Barbara. “I… I can’t,” she croaked, her chair screeching angrily against the tile floor as she pushed away violently, leaping to her feet. She wanted to run, wanted to find somewhere safe and hide there.

 

“Can’t what?” Barbara asked, caught up in the surrealistic nature of the moment. It occurred to her that they were dancing around one another, shadows skirting forward and back yet never touching. Shadows of what, she didn’t know. All she did know was that Helena’s emotions were written in stark, unequivocal terms across her face. There was desire and lust and an almost aching need for acceptance in her eyes, all inescapable and painfully clear.

 

She was accustomed to the feeling of imbalance Helena created. It had been growing steadily for the past few years, though it had skyrocketed in recent months. Part of her was loath to recognize it. It felt wrong, in many ways, to view the girl she once saw as her responsibility and charge as something more than that, but she couldn’t deny the fact that Helena most certainly wasn’t a child any longer. She was an adult, with adult desires, desires that Barbara suspected that she herself mirrored. At least, she thought she did. But, of course, that assumed she was reading Helena correctly, something which was never really a given, despite her general overall level of comfort with being able to interpret the other woman’s moods and expressions.

 

Despite her occasional unease, there was something quite primal in Helena that called out to her. The other woman was an abyss, one in which she could easily find herself lost. The very idea terrified her, but she was drawn by the magnetic and ultimately alluring combination of intelligence, sex appeal, and hints of darkness. Helena was the gray areas she couldn’t allow herself to be. She was casual sex and a reckless disregard for society and its laws. She was a good girl wrapped up in a bad girl’s body, with all of the attitude and pathos that came with that. But then, she wasn’t a good girl at all when the redhead thought about it, except for in the ways that really counted. She was a walking contradiction, one even Barbara couldn’t operationalize and quantify. Helena would forever be an unknown variable, achingly vulnerable one moment and brashly independent the next.

 

She wanted that, for reasons she couldn’t or wouldn’t or didn’t want to define. Helena was like a kitten, cuddly one second and all claws the next. For someone who valued order and stability, even if it came in quite the non-mainstream package, such chaos and unpredictability was almost unthinkable, generally considered an anathema and a state to be avoided at all costs. Yet Barbara was drawn to it, desiring the heat of the flame even as she knew it would burn her.

 

Helena hadn’t answered her, and Barbara realized with some surprise that her thoughts must have been showing on her face, because Helena was watching her with a combination of fascination and fear. She was usually much more adept at keeping things suppressed, but the past week had taken a toll on her reserve. She realized idly that sullen, withdrawn and prone to violence weren’t necessarily qualities that should be as attractive as she found them, but then again, Barbara was aware of the distinct dichotomy between what she should want and what she did want.

 

Maybe she’d always had a bit of a self-destructive streak. Actually, it would be ludicrous to think otherwise. Truth, justice and all that could have been served in a variety of ways that wouldn’t have put her physical safety at risk, but those things hadn’t appealed to her. She’d always liked the rush, that heady jolt of adrenaline perhaps the strongest aphrodisiac of them all. From the first taste, she’d been hooked. Her childhood had been a study in finding new ways to get her fix. She’d pitted brains and brawn against any challengers, always easily clearing the field of any true competition. Broken bones and bruises and mild concussions hadn’t been stumbling blocks so much as they’d been expected and somewhat welcome by-products.

 

When she’d run out of socially acceptable avenues, Barbara had found others. These took her to far darker places, both literally and metaphorically, and once there, Barbara found a new addiction. Danger, in all its many forms. Flying high above the streets of New Gotham, separated from death by only the tenuous hold of a grappling hook on brick or squaring off against criminals with less than no compunction about hurting or perhaps killing her had taken the place of gymnastics floor exercises and Quiz Bowl competitions. Even if she couldn’t inhabit the gray areas herself, they were where she felt at her most comfortable. Barbara embraced the shadows, the ambiguities, and the delicious thrill of impending doom that pervaded each and every interaction.

 

The objective part of her brain realized that it wasn’t entirely normal or healthy, but that didn’t change things. Barbara thrived in that atmosphere. It was her secret heroin, her preferred drug of choice. As long as she had the danger, then she didn’t need anything else. It was a natural high unlike any synthetic or induced one could provide.

 

Then she lost it all. Inevitable, perhaps, that the very thing she craved would destroy her. The allure wasn’t quite as alluring in the face of the searing pain of a bullet through the gut, but even when they told her she’d never walk again, Barbara couldn’t bring herself to regret a single second of it. She’d played the game and she’d lost, but like any addict, she couldn’t stay away. So she couldn’t be Batgirl, couldn’t perch high above the city, fighting the wind and gravity and her own fear of falling? So she couldn’t look into a soul of pure evil and throw regard for safety out the window, plunging herself whole-heartedly into battle with the unwavering determination that she would emerge the victor? She could do other things. She had a better hold on the city as Oracle than she ever could have imagined as Batgirl. The thrill was still there, though she fought the phantom ghosts of the limitations of the human mind and the always real potential that she’d be discovered instead of heavy-handed thugs and brutally insane psychopaths. So there was something missing, something more than her long-lost ability to hurl herself into the midst of a fight? If it was the sweetly acrid taste of danger, then she just had to accept the fact that it was no longer available to her.

 

But…

 

Helena was dangerous.

 

She was dangerous for all of the same reasons Barbara had craved before, and for a whole host of new reasons she wasn’t sure she could handle. One of the trickier aspects of their relationship was that she had a hold on Helena, had the ability to tame the wild, feral beast upon which the other woman often had little more than a tenuous grip, and both of them knew it. The truth was, for the most part Barbara didn’t particularly want Helena tamed. She wanted her animalistic and uncontrollable, and Barbara wasn’t sure what that said about herself. Of course, on the other hand, possessing that power was also rewarding. She could bring Helena to her knees, could leash all of that energy and anger if she so desired. She wasn’t quite sure what her delight in that fact said about herself either.

 

Which was all quite interesting and enlightening to ponder, but did nothing to cut through the tension surrounding the two of them. She needed to push, or perhaps to pull back, or really to do anything other than sit there in the limbo her words and actions had created.

 

So, voice ragged, Barbara rasped, “What is it you can’t do, Helena?”

 

Which was really just a challenge masquerading as a question, its disguise poor by intention and not fault. Barbara was looking for proof of the laws of gravity and inertia. For every action…

 

…there was an equal and opposite reaction. Eyes gone feral in a surge of emotion, Helena stalked toward her prey. Barbara had pushed and she’d pushed, though had she been pressed Helena wouldn’t have been able to point out the catalyst for her actions, nor would she have been able to justify her response based on the events leading up to it. One second she was standing, body taut with the tension of the moment, and the next she’d descended upon Barbara, knees buried in the soft cushioned seat of the other woman’s wheelchair as she straddled her thighs, hands tangling roughly in silky red hair. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not by any stretch of the imagination, but Helena couldn’t be bothered to take the time for soft seduction. She’d wanted and been denied for so long, and as far as she was concerned, not giving Barbara an opportunity to turn her down was by far the more appealing option.

 

Not that she needed to worry about rejection. Judging from the enthusiastic fervor with which she was being kissed in return, Barbara wanted it just as much as she did. Perhaps even more so, because strong fingers were digging into her back, pulling her forward with a strength she’d always known Barbara possessed but hadn’t been allowed to feel. There would be bruises. Of that she had no doubt.

 

“I need you.”

 

The words were out before Helena even realized she was going to speak, harsh on the rasping pant of excited breath, far more needy than she’d ever envisioned herself sounding. And _need_. Need was so much more than, well… want. Need was oxygen and water and food, and the more she thought about it, the more Helena realized she indeed did need Barbara. Needed her to survive. Needed her just as much as those more elemental things necessary to sustain life.

 

And, it seemed like Barbara needed her too. Unspoken sentiments to the revelation aside, Helena could feel it in every touch of the redhead’s hands on her body. There was an urgency, a near frantic desperation. Short nails scored the tender flesh of her back before soft palms soothed the irritated skin, and even white teeth nipped roughly at her lips and tongue, belying something far more dire than just simple want. Barbara was consuming her, eating her alive with the force of her passion and emotions, and Helena reveled in the feeling. It was what she wanted, what she’d always wanted, and it didn’t surprise her that Barbara was the only person she’d ever found who was capable of giving it to her.

 

Because Barbara knew her. Barbara was more than friend, family, or soon-to-be lover. Barbara was systemic, a part of her. Barbara flowed in her veins.

 

The burn of tape-wrapped hands pressing up her abdomen, shoving the silky fabric of her bra aside with more resolve than finesse, left Barbara panting. The part of herself that was wholly separate from the proceedings, that was simply floating above the tangled mess of arms, legs, lips, skin, teeth and tongues, was a bit horrified by it all. This was Helena, after all. Helena, who had cried herself to sleep in Barbara’s arms for months after her mother’s death, who had occasionally crawled into the other woman’s bed in the early hours of the morning for years after, tears streaming wordlessly down her cheeks. Helena, who had sat in Barbara’s AP English class not paying much real attention to the redhead at all, until the Joker had ripped both of their lives in half and they’d become each other’s caretaker. Helena, who had come to her with bruises and broken hearts alike, somehow certain that Barbara could heal whatever ailed her. Helena, seven years younger than her and, until her 19th birthday had come and gone, her ward.

 

She was taking advantage of the girl. She had to be. After all, what would someone like Helena want with her? Not only was she wildly unexciting, so unlike the brunette’s past conquests as to be almost of an entirely different species, but she was a cripple, the half of her body most important to endeavors such as the one in which she was currently engaged totally devoid of feeling.

 

A fact she was brutally reminded of as she looked down, as she tore her lips away from Helena’s to watch one slim fingered hand trail down her abdomen to slip beneath the waistband of her pants. The sensation trailed from the tantalizing tickle of soft fingertips to absolutely nothing in the span of a heartbeat, and even as she watched the outline of Helena’s hand move beneath the somewhat restricting fabric of her pants, she was floating in the aching void of absolutely nothing. No feeling and no sensation other than an almost preternatural awareness of the heat of Helena’s breath scorching the flesh of her neck.

 

She couldn’t do this. There was no way she could allow it to happen, moment of temporary insanity notwithstanding. Helena needed someone who could be her equal in all things, and Barbara needed anything other than the resounding absence of feeling and the look of pity she was certain would soon be directed her way from too caring blue eyes. She’d forgotten, or perhaps had consciously ignored, the inevitable outcome of a confrontation such as the one she’d let herself be drawn into, but there was no escaping the reality of the limitations of her body and the sheer wrongness of the situation.

 

“Stop,” she said roughly, hoping her voice would be enough. It wasn’t though, or else her entreaty fell on deaf ears, because Helena’s lips continued to trace a path of fire across the exposed expanse of her neck and upper chest. For a moment she nearly gave into it, wanting, for the first time in her life, to do something she knew was wrong simply because it felt so very good, but she couldn’t do that. Couldn’t do it to Helena, and couldn’t do it to herself.

 

So, strong fingers found Helena’s shoulders, and she pushed, perhaps a bit harder than she’d intended, because seconds later the brunette was looking up at her from a sprawl across the floor at her feet, blue eyes full of confusion and hurt. “I said stop,” Barbara rasped, eyes dropping to the side, focusing on the arm of her chair. It was easier that way, to not have to be subjected to the critical mass of near agony she’d briefly glimpsed in Helena’s eyes.

 

“I… I don’t understand.” The words were ragged, literally infused with anger and puzzlement, and Barbara focused on the way her fingers stroked lightly over the fabric of her pants, touching a stranger for all that she could feel of the motion.

 

Without looking up, Barbara wheeled back slowly, putting some distance between herself and Helena. “This isn’t something I want,” she said softly, her words tinged with sadness. But, Barbara was long used to self-denial. In fact, she’d been practicing it for so long that she was practically a professional, and no matter how much part of her was raging at the loss of contact and the deliberate chill inflicted by her words, she wasn’t going to back down.

 

Helena laughed, the sound completely devoid of humor. “Bullshit, Barbara. It was something you wanted quite a bit until something kicked in, probably that oversized brain of yours, and told you that you shouldn’t have it.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about this.” A hard twist of her wheels and she was facing away from Helena, green eyes unfocused as they looked out over the Clocktower’s main floor. She could see her computers contentedly humming away, streams of data flowing across their monitors and just waiting for someone to come and interpret it. There was the faint hum of the refrigerator, and the muted sound of a laugh-track from a television she hadn’t even realized was still on. And then, of course, there was the weight of Helena’s stare almost burning a hole through her shoulder blades.

 

Even though she didn’t hear her move, Barbara knew when Helena closed the distance between them. She could feel the heat of the other woman’s body, could sense the sheer force of her presence. “Tough shit. I want to talk about it,” Helena growled, a hand hovering over the back of Barbara’s neck. She wanted to touch the other woman, to reestablish a physical connection. Hell, she wanted to push her way past Barbara’s protestations completely, sure that she could make things between them so good that Barbara would forget she’d ever said no, would know that she hadn’t ever meant it anyway. She could do it. And if it was wrong, if the mere thought would have sickened her had she been in her right mind, then it was a good thing she wasn’t.

 

“Tell me why you pulled back, Barbara. The real reason.”

 

There was such frustration, such _pain_ in Helena’s voice, that for a moment, Barbara wanted to give in, wanted to spin around and open up her arms. She hadn’t been wholly unaware of the fact that Helena was interested in her beyond the realm of partners and friends, but she hadn’t ever expected anything to actually come of it. Indeed, there was so much history between them that it was practically inescapable. Helena couldn’t help but be drawn to her. After all, they’d seen each other at their weakest, had been instrumental in rebuilding one another, and now Helena often laid her life in the palm of Barbara’s hand, fully trusting the other woman to watch her back. It was only natural that the bond between them was strong, and that Helena could temporarily mistake it for something it wasn’t. For lust or love or whatever the brunette thought she was in, but Barbara didn’t want to start something she could already see ending. She was simply being realistic about the whole thing. Giving into this now would only strain things between them. Helena would inevitably move on, and Barbara would be left wanting more, because she knew with an unwavering certainty that once she’d had the brunette in her life as a lover, she wouldn’t be able to go back. Barbara didn’t do things half-heartedly. When she fell in love, she fell hard, with little to no chance of recovery, and she was well aware that her feelings for Helena were teetering dangerously on that edge.

 

It was an edge over which she wasn’t going to fall, a line she wasn’t going to cross. There was no way that she’d make herself even more vulnerable than she already was. She wasn’t going to put herself at the mercy of Helena, wasn’t going to set herself up for failure and heartbreak. Sure, the other woman might think for a little while that things would work out, that it was what she wanted, but then something newer and better would happen along and Barbara would be left alone. It wasn’t as if she had a multitude of choices or offers, and the thought of watching Helena once again make her way through a line of boys and girls while she could do no more than sit helplessly on the sidelines and watch was about as unappealing of a prospect as she could imagine.

 

Barbara’s silence was unnerving, and Helena felt her already unsteady composure crack just a little bit more with each passing second. “Tell me why,” she demanded roughly, barely resisting the urge to pull Barbara around to face her, to force an answer of out the other woman.

 

“Because I don’t want to fuck you, Helena. It’s that simple,” Barbara said starkly, the uncharacteristically harsh words sounding alien coming from her lips. It was all she could think to say, though. Anything else, any sort of exploration of feelings or expressions of doubt or concerns for the future would have given too much away, would have opened the door to conversations she didn’t want to have.

 

Helena stepped back as if struck, and Barbara was instantly aware of the change in the air surrounding her, of the sudden and seemingly irretrievable loss. “Is that what you thought it was? Is that what you thought I wanted?” Helena asked slowly, feeling tears sting the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away, determined not to appear any weaker than she already had in front of the woman slowly ripping her heart in half. At that moment, Barbara didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve to know just how much she could hurt her.

 

“Why?” Barbara challenged, steeling herself with anger she didn’t feel. “Did you think it was something more? The beginning of some grand, epic romance?”

 

There was a bitterness and hatred in the words that tore into Helena’s soul, and she stiffened, feet already itching to run. Barbara was being so cruel, so unlike herself, and Helena was quite certain that she couldn’t take much more.

 

“Maybe I did,” she whispered in reply, watching the way Barbara’s shoulders slumped at the words, unsure what it meant. “What would be so wrong about that… you and me together? What’s so wrong with me?”

 

Barbara felt reckless, out of control, bashed back and forth between cliffs of emotion she didn’t understand, and the pain in Helena’s voice only exacerbated that. She had no hold over the situation or her words any longer, and she listened, horrified, as they spilled out into the open, staining the air between herself and Helena a dark, violent black. “You’re not exactly relationship material, Helena, and if I just wanted to fuck, then there are plenty of people who can take care of that for me. What we have is a partnership. Don’t try to make it into more.”

 

Which was a bald-faced lie, all of it, and she cringed both from the bite of her conscience and from the strangled sound she heard come from the woman behind her. Barbara wondered when she’d lost her grip on the situation and on herself, because she quite certainly had. She’d taken something that had no reason to be as vicious as it was and turned it into a blood-bath, and she had no doubt that they’d both be licking their wounds for some time to come. But she had to do it, had to eliminate all possibility of something between them, had to restore their working relationship to what it should have been. Something caring but platonic, and even though she knew it would take Helena a while to get past what had been said, she would. Of that, Barbara was certain.

 

Helena felt her anger spark somewhere near the base of her spine and radiate outwards until every square inch of her body burned with it. She could taste blood, though whether it was in the metaphorical sense or due, instead, to the tight grip her teeth had on the inside of her cheek, she wasn’t sure. There was a part of her dying, a rather essential part, but she couldn’t focus on that. All she could do was take in deep breath after deep breath and keep a tight lid on the impulse that urged her to reach out and strangle some sense into Barbara – that or just plain strangle her. At that particular moment, Helena couldn’t decide which would be more satisfying.

 

“You’re lying,” she managed to grit out, not really having any basis for the assertion other than her own fervent yearning that it be true but yet, somehow, still believing it desperately. She hadn’t been imagining the looks, the sly touches, or the way Barbara had reacted to her when she’d finally managed to get up the courage to kiss her. If she hadn’t been wanted in return, then the other woman’s hands would have been pushing her away, not pulling her in closer. Barbara could lie to her and lie to herself all she wanted, but Helena knew the truth. Barbara wanted her, but that didn’t mean she would give in to that desire. As obstinate as the redhead was, she’d probably take her lies to her grave as the absolute truth, and trick herself into believing it all the while.

 

Barbara didn’t answer, just sat stone still in her chair, eyes staring at nothing. She wanted the confrontation to be over, wanted to retreat to her room and sort things out in her mind. But, most importantly, she wanted to get started on the getting over it part, because she’d had what she wanted for one magnificently intense moment, and it was going to be hard to move on, especially knowing that she’d had the opportunity for more and thrust it away. Even if she hadn’t been able to feel Helena’s hands on her, she would have gotten to touch the brunette, to see her face and her body contorted with passion, and to burn that image into memory for the day when she was alone yet again. And really, wasn’t that what she lived on now… memories? Memories of the time when she’d had legs that worked, when she’d been Batgirl, when she’d been a fully functional and capable lover. Memories of when she’d been truly alive.

 

After the protracted pause grew into an awkward silence, Helena realized Barbara wasn’t planning on answering her or responding to her words, and with a sigh, she felt the tension in her body uncoil, leaving a kind of helpless lethargy in its wake. She felt drained, as if she’d faced down a cadre of thugs, her body just as tired and bruised as if the words had been fists instead of verbal arrows. Raising her hand to the bridge of her nose, pinching the thin sliver of cartilage there in a useless attempt at staving off the stress-induced headache she could feel building, Helena muttered, “Tell yourself whatever it is you need to, Barbara. Justify it. Say it’s my fault. I don’t care. Just… just don’t come looking for me, okay.”

 

“Helena…” Barbara started, her voice cracking as she turned her chair so that she was facing the other woman. Only, there was no other woman to face, just the barely visible slip of black over the Clocktower’s balcony and the coolness of nothing.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Dinah was confused. She was confused and anxious, and not at all certain how to remedy either of those states. It’d been a week since she’d seen Helena. Actually, it’d been since the night she came home to find Barbara slumped over in her chair, face bright red with the stain of tears. To see her mentor and the woman she practically hero-worshipped in that kind of condition had been startling and disconcerting to say the least, but Barbara had simply wiped her hands across her cheeks and smiled up at her as if she hadn’t been crying, asking her if she’d had dinner yet in a falsely cheerful tone that had grated jarringly against the pained silence of the room.

 

She hadn’t touched Barbara, partly because when she came close the other woman seemed skittishly nervous, eyeing her almost as if Dinah were attacking instead of trying to console, so there was no way for her to learn what had happened. It wasn’t as if Barbara was going to tell her, because the older woman had merely wheeled her way into the kitchen as if possessed by demons of domesticity, trying in vain to find utensils she couldn’t name to prepare a meal she didn’t know how to make with ingredients they didn’t have. She’d been buzzing with nervous energy, throwing out questions to Dinah more quickly than they could be answered, but Dinah had the feeling that Barbara wouldn’t have heard or even cared about her answers anyway.

 

While she might not have had the opportunity to employ a little psychic spying, Dinah was well aware that something was horribly wrong. She could almost smell it in the air. Confrontation, anger, pain and confusion lingered about as if they were a perfumed cloud, and she wondered at the intensity of emotion necessary to leave behind that kind of trace. She’d caught glimpses of things such as it before, though usually only when she’d stumbled upon the scene of some tragedy. Funerals also brought them about on occasion, but she hadn’t ever been hit by a wave of emotion as profound as the one cloaking the Clocktower.

 

She hadn’t said anything, cowed by the haunted look in Barbara’s eyes and her own unstable footing in the household. Instead, she’d dutifully eaten the truly awful macaroni and cheese Barbara managed to produce, swallowing the overly crunchy lumps with as big of a smile as she could muster, and then escaped to her room, eager to be away from the sensations still assaulting her.

 

Barbara had been back to normal the next day, if a little pale and perhaps a bit more subdued than usual, so Dinah had let it slide once again. She still didn’t feel comfortable enough to encroach on where she was visibly not wanted, and could only hope that Helena would show up and cheer Barbara out of her black mood. She’d seen it happen before, seen whatever funk Barbara had fallen into disappear completely at the other woman’s appearance, though how the usually sullen Helena could bring good cheer into anyone’s life, she didn’t know. Not that she didn’t like Helena, or admire or want to be her just a tiny little bit, but she was already well aware of her flaws after residing with them for only a few short weeks, and she’d very rarely ever had her mood actually improve simply because of the brunette’s presence.

 

But Helena hadn’t come. Barbara had waited without seeming to wait, positioned staunchly in front of one of Delphi’s many screens, eyes tracing over the lines of information coming at her with such speed that Dinah had to wonder how she could absorb it all. Barbara hadn’t said anything, even when Helena didn’t come by and didn’t check in, and the one time Dinah had managed to work up the guts to ask about her, Barbara had thrown her a painfully nonchalant, “Well, she does have a life, you know.”

 

Except, Dinah knew about Helena’s life, and Helena’s life was centered out of the Clocktower. Being the Huntress might not have been the sacred calling for her that being Batgirl had been for Barbara according to the stories she’d managed to coax from Alfred, but it wasn’t something she shied away from either. She’d seen Helena uneasy and impatient under the demands being Huntress made on her time, but she’d also never seen her leave until Barbara deemed things all clear. And even then, it wasn’t as if Helena had rushed out into the night immediately after, headed off for any one of the numerous destinations Dinah imagined would appeal to the other woman. No, instead of a bar or a club or something Dinah pictured but wasn’t quite sure what to call, though she was faintly certain contained a lot of black leather, she’d stick around. She’d bug Barbara or dig through the refrigerator or sigh about the lack of good quality late night programming since having the “kid” around meant they couldn’t watch porn. And Barbara would smile at that and ask when they’d ever watched porn to begin with, and Dinah had found the exchanges nearly unbearably cute.

 

Helena’s life _was_ Barbara, and it had taken her well over a week to realize that the two of them weren’t together. It wasn’t as if she’d run into many – well, any – same-sex couples in Opal, but if she’d thought to picture what it would be like, Helena and Barbara would have fit perfectly. They gave off all of the signals long-established couples transmitted without effort, with their unconscious yet vaguely intimate touches, with the glances that went on far longer than were necessary, with the easy familiarity that was harder to achieve than it looked. There was an unspoken communication between them, and having the two in close proximity was almost enough to create an invisible force field of intimacy, one that clearly knit them together while protecting them from the outside world. Dinah was more than aware of that one, having felt the outsider more times than she could count when she’d walk into a room to find the two hunched over some project or computer screen, faces so close they were nearly touching and words muted into soft whispers.

 

But, underlying it all, there had been a barely discernable line of tension. Helena might have stuck around the Clocktower for as long as she could have managed, but she always left. She had her own apartment, and it wasn’t until Dinah realized that Helena actually returned to it every night that she surmised that things were not as they’d seemed. At first she’d thought it was a ruse for her benefit, a ‘keep the kid in the dark’ kind of thing. But, when Helena left, she didn’t return, and Barbara always retired to bed alone, so that hadn’t been it.

 

Sadly, the information she’d collected seemed to make it _more_ difficult to uncover what had happened. Had the two been together, she would have chalked it up to a lover’s quarrel, and waited for Helena to drag herself back and apologize. Because really, it undoubtedly would have been Helena’s fault to begin with, because the brunette was always doing or saying something stupid, and it wasn’t that far of a stretch of the imagination to picture her being at the root of any problem. But, they weren’t together, and Barbara’s unnaturally neutral mood made it impossible to decipher what had gone on. If Barbara had railed at the absent Helena, if she’d shown some sort of anger or frustration, then Dinah would have felt more at ease with the situation. As it was, she was eerily quiet about the other woman’s very blatant absence, continuing on about her job as if Helena’s missing persons status wasn’t at all unusual. And maybe it wasn’t out of the ordinary for the brunette to disappear for long stretches of time. Dinah hadn’t been there forever, after all, so it wasn’t as if she was intimately familiar with the ins and outs of their routine.

 

But, she was fairly certain that wasn’t what had happened. From what she’d seen of Helena, there was no way the Huntress would have willingly or voluntarily have left Barbara alone for so long. She’d picked up on Helena’s overly protective streak almost immediately, and that those energies were constantly directed in full force at Barbara. Leaving the redhead alone was tantamount to leaving her defenseless in Helena’s estimation. Or, at least that’s what Dinah had managed to infer, though she wasn’t quite sure Barbara had ever really realized what was happening or else her wildly independent and self-sufficient streak would have chafed under what she would have perceived as a slight. Besides, there _had_ been some sort of confrontation, and if nothing else pointed to something out of the ordinary, that did. They’d had a fight, though about what Dinah couldn’t imagine, and for some reason Helena had run.

 

Which brought her back to the beginning, looping her into the same cycle of frustration and confusion that had plagued her attempts to deconstruct the situation. It wasn’t unusual for Helena to run. In fact, it seemed like a natural defense mechanism for the brunette. What was unusual was Barbara’s reaction, or, rather, non-reaction. Dinah could have understood anger, frustration, or irritated acceptance, but the carefully controlled lack of a response was just simply not normal. Nor was the fact that Barbara was about to let her go out in the field all by herself.

 

“You have to wear this at all times. You cannot take it off,” the redhead was saying sternly, holding out a transceiver and giving Dinah a pointed and vaguely intimidating glare. Not that Dinah felt she deserved it. After all, it wasn’t as if she was Miss Queen of Teenaged Rebellion like Helena undoubtedly had been.

 

Barbara didn’t seem convinced by Dinah’s enthusiastic nod, but continued on nonetheless. “All you’re going in to do is see if there’s been any activity. You stay back and don’t try to make contact. There will be no investigating, no stunt-pulling of any kind, and no theatrics. You go up on the roof, you look around, and you take a few pictures. That’s it. Do you understand?”

 

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Dinah took the proffered headset, grimacing at the weight of the bulky gear. Not only had Helena disappeared, but she’d done so with the cool gadgets as well. “I’ve got you. I don’t do anything.”

 

A wry smile crossed Barbara’s lips. She wasn’t wholly unaware of the mothering streak in her that sometimes came out in full force in regards to her protégés, and was well aware that Dinah was not-so-slyly poking fun at her. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she said wearily. After all, she’d apparently already driven off one superhero that week… no need to get a fledgling one killed.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Dinah said blithely, full of the vain certainty of youth.

XXXXXXXXXX

 

As soon as the rather meaty hand had clamped down on her shoulder, Dinah had been possessed by the sneaking suspicion that she might possibly be in trouble. Matters certainly hadn’t improved when she’d been tugged rather roughly from her perch on the roof and hauled down the side of the building by an attacker she was in no way prepared to face. When she’d been ushered into a small, fairly dark and definitely musty room and duct-taped into a chair… well, that pretty much took away any lingering doubts she might have had about the seriousness of her situation.

 

She took in her attackers as best she could, not at all comforted by the fact that there were four of them, and of the four, none appeared to be up for any kind of negotiation. The slight leers on their faces didn’t do anything to ease her apprehension either, and she began to seriously rethink crime-fighting as a possible career choice. Perhaps it was even time to take one of those aptitude tests her guidance counselor had been pushing at her.

 

“So,” one of the thugs said slowly, lumbering around so that he was squatting in front of her, his surprisingly light blue eyes even with her own, “care to explain?”

 

He held up the headset she’d been wearing, one brow cocked in anticipation of her answer, and Dinah sighed. She never had been very good at lying, especially when anything she might have concocted would have been ludicrous anyway.

 

“Uhm… no. There’s no explanation really. Nothing going on. Nothing to see here,” she said nervously, babbling.

 

The thug looked remarkably unimpressed. “You know,” he said idly, cocking his head to the side, “I could just leave you in here alone with these guys for a little while and see how much your ability to answer questions truthfully improves while I’m gone.”

 

An apprehensive glance around the room revealed far more than she’d ever wanted to know about just how much the prospect of a young, helpless and bound female prisoner appealed to her captors, and Dinah began to panic in earnest.

 

She opened her mouth, ready to tell them every secret she knew, including the fact that Mary Ellen Parker tongue-kissed her own brother in the second grade, when a violent crash cut her short. Dinah watched with some amazement as the door to the room flew open with such force that it shattered, sending a shower of wooden splinters flying and leaving a blanket of sawdust-like particles in its wake.

 

“Sorry boys… hate to cut the party short, but my friend here is out past her curfew so we have to be going. I’m sure you understand.” Dinah nearly fainted with relief as the slow, smoky drawl emerged from the darkness, followed shortly thereafter by Helena herself. She looked imposing and fierce in the dim light of the warehouse and Dinah felt herself relax. Huntress would take care of things for her. Hopefully.

 

Four heads swiveled in tandem, eyes wide in surprise at the interruption. But, when the thugs caught sight of Helena in all of her slim, lanky glory, they smiled.

 

“Look at this, boys. We’ve got ourselves a two for one special going tonight,” the ringleader said smugly, advancing quickly toward where Helena stood, hands outstretched to catch her as if he were chasing a run-away puppy.

 

With a sniff of dismissal, Helena planted a boot against his sternum, sending him flying back into the far wall. The other three looked on in a combination of confusion and amazement as their comrade slid slowly to the floor, but after a moment’s indecision, all rushed Helena at once, low growls of anger filling the silence.

 

Dinah watched with no little amount of awe as the remaining men were quickly incapacitated, all with quick, economical movements whose easy grace belied their power. In fact, Helena didn’t look as if she were breaking a sweat, or even as if she were really devoting all of her attention to the fight. Instead she finished the gang off in seemingly bored silence, snagging the roll of duct tape they’d used on Dinah to effectively hog-tie them with the skill of a seasoned calf-roper, leaving a line of limp bodies in a neat row by the wall.

 

When she was done, she none-too-gently ripped the tape from around Dinah’s limbs then stooped to pick up the abandoned headset. “Get back on that thing and tell Barbara to send the police out to get these guys, and give me the keys. I’m driving,” she said curtly, expression closed.

 

Dinah, however, was too flush with relief to really listen to what the other woman was saying. “Oh, my God. I’m so glad you’re back, Helena,” she gushed. “Did Barbara send you out here? They were gonna… I don’t even want to think about what they were…”

 

Trailing off, shivering at the memory of the undisguised violence and lust in her captors’ eyes, Dinah slowly became aware of the fact that Helena wasn’t answering her, nor even really paying her words much attention. Fumbling into silence under the bored yet somehow still imposing force of the other woman’s glare, she pulled the headset on with quick, jerky movements, digging in her pants pocket to find the car keys.

 

There was no reception, and Dinah grew increasingly nervous under Helena’s increasingly agitated gaze as she ripped the headset off and fiddled with a few buttons, not sure what she was doing but hoping and praying it would work nonetheless. When she heard the crackle of static, she nearly fainted in relief. Helena’s scowl had grown into a glower, and she had the distinct impression that she should do everything in her power to avoid pissing the brunette off any more than she already was.

 

“Uh, Barbara? I mean… uh… Oracle,” she said hesitantly, lightly fitting the headset back into place. The tension in the room was reaching its peak, and Dinah began to shift from foot to foot in apprehension. Anything, really, to escape the force of Helena’s angry glare.

 

“Dinah? Is that you? I’m on my way. Don’t panic,” came the breathless reply, and Dinah nearly winced at the frantic quality of Barbara’s voice.

 

Clearing her throat, Dinah said quickly, “No. No need to do that. I’m fine now. Uh… Huntress saved me.”

 

For a long moment, Barbara didn’t say anything, and Dinah could hear absolute silence where before there had been the background sounds of Barbara gathering things together. When she finally did speak, her voice was quiet, and a little bit strangled. “She’s there?” Barbara breathed, and Dinah’s brows crinkled at the myriad threads of emotion she could hear running through the two simple words.

 

“Yeah. And… um… I don’t think she’s going to let me drive home. Do you think you could call the police and let them know that they’ll find some guys here waiting to be picked up?”

 

“Sure,” Barbara replied weakly. “Is she coming back to the Clocktower with you?”

 

For a moment, Dinah frowned at the seemingly odd question. If Helena had come after her, then surely she and Barbara had worked out whatever problem it was that had been keeping the two apart, and if that was true and they were once again working with one another, then there wouldn’t be any reason to suspect that Helena _wouldn’t_ return. After all, they’d have to do their post-mission debriefing and all of the other really boring things Barbara insisted on after each sweep or foray, and Helena had to be there for that. Unless… unless Helena hadn’t talked to Barbara at all. Which meant, then, that Helena had known Dinah was in trouble without an alert from Barbara. Which meant Helena had been watching over them, unless she just had the phenomenal luck to blindly crash into a room inside an apparently abandoned warehouse where Dinah was being held captive.

 

Which meant, really, that Helena hadn’t ever left at all. She’d still been there, protecting Barbara, and by default Dinah herself, without the other woman’s knowledge. For some reason, the thought of Helena perched atop some rooftop, all alone in the cold with no voice to keep her company as she steadfastly watched over them, nearly broke Dinah’s heart. Spinning quickly before Helena could see the tears that pricked the corners of her eyes, Dinah said steadily, “I don’t know if she’s coming back. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

 

There was another awkward silence before Barbara said stiffly, “If she wants to come back, she’ll come back.”

 

The feeling that she was dealing with a pair of the most emotionally stunted individuals she’d ever met hit Dinah with the force of a ton of bricks, and she sighed. She had an inkling that things around the Clocktower weren’t really going to improve in the near future, and as much as she hoped she was wrong about that, she really didn’t think she was.

 

“You finished yet?” Helena asked roughly, cutting into the blonde’s introspection, and with a too bright smile, Dinah turned, nodding yes.

 

“Uh-huh. Just can’t wait to get back,” she said with falsely sarcastic cheer, wanting to do something to break the hard shell of angry near silence wrapped around her as tightly as a cocoon. If she got annoying in the process, then it was what the other two deserved.

 

Narrowing her eyes, Helena merely grunted and held her hand out for the keys again, turning on her heel and stalking out of the warehouse as soon as she’d secured them. Dinah wasn’t surprised when the other woman made her way without any assistance to the exact spot where she’d left their jeep.

 

By the time she’d managed to climb into the passenger’s seat and buckle herself in, Helena already had the radio blaring at near ear-shattering levels and was racing away from the warehouse. For the first few moments, Dinah couldn’t do anything more than grab the handle above the door and brace herself for turns that were far too sharp to be making in a vehicle with a center of gravity that high. It didn’t take her long to accustom herself to the patterns of Helena’s driving, though, and she was actually quite relieved that the other woman didn’t drive with extreme adherence to any and all traffic laws like Barbara had the tendency to do, which made trips to school in the morning arduous to say the least.

 

Reaching out to turn down the radio, noting with detached amusement that Helena had set it to a volume that rattled every single window in the vehicle, she turned in her seat, taking in the other woman’s stern profile.

 

“I thought it was your fault, but it wasn’t, was it?” she said suddenly, conversationally, and Helena’s head snapped around so quickly that Dinah was surprised she didn’t get whiplash.

 

“I’m sorry. Did I ask for your input on something and forget?” Helena rasped, blue eyes glinting wildly in the alternating light from the street lamps. For a moment, Dinah almost let it go, but she just couldn’t. Firmly convinced that Barbara and Helena would never work things out if she didn’t do something to help, she continued bravely on.

 

“I thought the fight was your fault, but it was Barbara’s, wasn’t it,” she clarified, desperately hoping that Helena wouldn’t break her nose for interfering. She wouldn’t put it past the other woman, who hadn’t really always had a firm rein on her more violent impulses from what Dinah had observed.

 

Lying easily, Helena said smoothly, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Taking a deep breath, wondering idly if she was suicidal, Dinah continued on. “At first I thought it had to be you. I mean, no offense or anything, but it makes more sense to think that you did something to piss Barbara off than it does to think of Barbara causing problems between you two. So, I figured you’d said something stupid or picked a fight with her and then just cut out. She hasn’t said anything, and I haven’t really asked, so it seemed logical. But now… well, I’m not sure that’s the way it went down. Even if it does seem a little crazy, I think whatever’s wrong might be Barbara’s fault, and I just wanted you to know that… you know… that you can… you know… talk to me about it if you want to. You know?”

 

Her words petering out to a near painful whisper by the end of her offer, Dinah merely sat back and held her breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. She got nothing, though, but the rhythmic tic of Helena’s jaw as she curbed whatever it was she’d initially planned to say in favor of silence. Ironically, the silence didn’t do anything to dissipate the tension that had once again sprung up at Dinah’s offer of help, and the blonde began to wonder if she was going to be scraping herself up off of the pavement in the near future.

 

With a sound that was almost a growl, Helena finally said, “Thanks for the concern, but it’s none of your business, kid. And don’t go to Barbara with this ‘I wanna help’ shit either, you got me. Just leave it alone, okay. I can handle it.”

 

Desperately wanting to point out that Helena apparently couldn’t handle it, not judging by the events of the last week, but still aware of a need for self-preservation, Dinah fell silent.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“I told you to stay back out of the way.”

 

In the habit of all terrified parents, or in this case terrified guardian, Barbara vented her helplessness and fear by going on the offensive.

 

“I did,” Dinah protested, stepping back at the assault, slamming squarely into Helena. The other woman grunted then pushed her aside, striding confidently into the room as if she hadn’t been MIA for a week.

 

Barbara’s eyes narrowed, jade flashing, but she fell silent. Dinah watched, transfixed, as the two stared each other down in a silent battle of wills that quickly decomposed into something most certainly not silent.

 

Her voice full of derision, Helena spat, “She did. It wasn’t her fault.”

 

Instantly taking that as an attack, Barbara wheeled forward, closing the distance between herself and Helena, gaze intense. “Well, something obviously went wrong.”

 

“The whole thing was wrong, Barbara. Have you lost your mind? She’s nowhere near ready to go out in the field. She’s just a baby. You know that. What were you thinking?”

 

Even Dinah was taken aback by the vehemence in Helena’s tone, and she stepped forward, instinctively wanting to defend Barbara. But, the women’s postures indicated that they were most unwilling to have a third party enter into the battle, and so she stopped, the words dying on her lips.

 

“I guess I was thinking that someone needed to do it, and I obviously couldn’t,” Barbara said derisively, though whether her anger and frustration was directed at Helena, Dinah, or herself wasn’t completely clear. “The job doesn’t stop just because you aren’t here to do it.”

 

“So what? You send her out there to get killed? To get raped? Maybe you need to re-evaluate your priorities, Barbara. What the fuck was so important that you had to send her out?” Helena asked, nostrils flaring and brows jerking rhythmically inward in anger.

 

Barbara suddenly grew silent, her expression chagrined. “There had been a rash of thefts lately. I was fairly certain the activity was based out of that warehouse, but I wasn’t sure,” she mumbled, eyes downcast. But, at the sound of Helena’s snort her head snapped up, features set in angry defiance.

 

“Thefts? What do you think the police are for, Barbara? Give them a call sometime. Do you know what almost happened because you wanted to bring down a group of _thieves_?” Helena stressed, and Dinah felt her cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment. She hadn’t fully processed the whole thing yet, and she was sure that once she had, once she took time to fully contemplate the potential consequences of her actions, that she might just need to have a small mental break down. She wasn’t at that point quite yet. Instead, she was still trapped in her ‘shame over her own incompetence’ phase, though that one was equally as unpleasant.

 

“You weren’t here,” Barbara snapped wearily in reply, a pleading note creeping, unbidden, into her tone. It wasn’t at all a compelling argument in response to Helena’s assertions, but the statement was so telling that Helena didn’t even bother to point out that fact.

 

Suddenly tired of the fighting, Helena slumped down into a nearby chair, her elbows braced against her spread thighs, head falling forward as if she were exhausted. “I needed some time,” she said dully, her words starkly evocative in their lack of emotion. Everything she was had been drained away, and in its wake she felt consumed by the boneless lethargy of sheer exhaustion.

 

Suddenly tender in direct counterpoint to her words and actions of only seconds earlier, Barbara closed the space between them, her hand coming up to cup Helena’s chin, thumb stroking gently along the line of her cheekbone. “I know,” she said softly, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

 

Watching the scene, Dinah had the distinct impression that she was intruding somewhere she shouldn’t be, and started to back away quietly. There was so much being said without words. She’d never seen anyone communicate like the two women before her, all eyes and gestures and tone of voice, and she was frankly quite amazed. Barbara and Helena told each other everything without telling each other anything at all. It was no wonder they were in such a mess.

 

For a long moment, Helena leaned into Barbara’s caress, simply enjoying the feel of the other woman’s skin against her own, enjoying the illusion that it was all real. But it wasn’t, and before she could let herself do yet another thing she’d have to regret, she reached up, capturing Barbara’s wrist. Surreptitiously grazing the other woman’s thumb across her bottom lip as she lowered Barbara’s hand, pressing it back into the other woman’s lap, she leaned back, eyes hooded and conflicted. “Don’t do things when you don’t mean them, Barbara,” she said huskily, a small frown settling on her lips.

 

Barbara wanted to protest, wanted to bring her hand back up, to continue on as she had been. But, there was something in Helena’s eyes, a coldness that hadn’t been there before, as if she was oddly detached from the situation. She could feel a distance in the other woman’s body posture that didn’t physically exist, but for all of the lack of space between them, they might as well have been miles apart. She felt shut-out and achingly alone and knew, instinctively, that she just didn’t possess the skills to make this better. She was a coward, and instead of saying the words she knew would make everything okay once again, at least for a little while, she pulled back, rolling a few inches away from where Helena was sitting.

 

With the imposition of actual space between them, Barbara felt her loss more keenly. There was something she wanted, wanted desperately, and it was just outside of her reach. The only problem with that was that she knew she could grab it, knew it would only take one minute of uncertainty, one split second of floating without the stability of hard ground under her feet, and then she’d be there. But, it was the fear that she’d never make it over the abyss, that she’d get to the other side only to have the earth crumble away from underneath her that held her back. She’d rather stay right where she was than risk any of that, no matter how desperately Helena’s eyes had once pleaded.

 

“Are you back?” she said instead, her voice strangely calm.

 

Helena’s eyes fluttered shut, well aware that Barbara had once again made the decision to push her away. She felt empty, the futility of the whole situation creeping through her body on not so stealthy feet, turning her limbs leaden. She was tired of Barbara having that kind of power over her, tired of living in reaction to the other woman’s whim, but wasn’t sure she knew how to fix it. For so long, Barbara had been her everything. Friend, guardian, confidante and finally, the woman who represented everything she wanted out of life. That the other woman could turn that away, could shunt her aside with what appeared to be little more than a passing thought, was perhaps one of the most painful things she’d ever experienced.

 

But, she didn’t say any of that. Instead, in a resigned voice, she murmured a simple, “Yeah.” Then, unable to bear the weight of her disappointment any longer, she fled once more.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“You missed our session last week,” Harleen observed casually, intently eyeing Helena’s dejected form. The other woman was definitely missing her usual verve. Exhaustion was outlined in every limb, and the dark circles under suddenly lackluster eyes betrayed a string of sleepless nights. Still though, she was quite delicious.

 

Shifting restlessly in her chair, Helena looked off to the side, eyes tracing the contours of Gotham’s skyline. “I was busy,” she mumbled, lips twitching in irritation. While part of her protested that counseling was just the right place to talk about her troubles, the larger segment of her mind insisted that she quite simply didn’t want to be there.

 

“Busy,” Harleen drawled, stretching the word out with sarcastic doubt. “Doing what?”

 

Sniffing quickly in frustration, Helena turned to face her therapist. She took a moment to survey the other woman, sharp as always in a classically tailored business suit that still, somehow, managed to just barely skirt the edge of professionalism. She occasionally felt unnerved by the other woman’s hawk-like gaze, and a quick glance upward confirmed that it was once again in place. Dr. Quinzel was an enigma to her, someone who seemed at once both completely at home and wholly out of place in her sleekly appointed office.

 

“Busy doing things, Dr. Quinzel,” Helena shot back snottily, sneering slightly at the brief flash of annoyance her words garnered.

 

Stuffing down her impatience, Harleen merely cocked a brow arrogantly and pursed her lips in a vaguely disapproving manner. “Busy doing what things, Helena? Barbara maybe?”

 

She imagined, from the look on Helena’s face, that the other woman would have snarled at her for that if the animalistic noise wouldn’t have been completely out of place, and Harleen smirked, sensing quite easily that she’d hit a sore spot. And, there were no better spots, in her estimation. “Oh my… the seduction’s not going quite as planned?”

 

Turning her head to the side, fighting to keep her composure and not get herself arrested on yet another destruction of property charge, or perhaps even assault and battery, Helena took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts. Finally, she managed a gritted, “Barbara’s not an issue any more. I’ve moved on.”

 

Barely able to keep herself from chuckling sadistically, Harleen pressed on, almost physically unable to keep herself from twisting the knife in even further. “Turned you down, did she?” she sniped, thoroughly enjoying the wince that made its way across her client’s features. “She must not have been impressed with what you had to offer.”

 

This time Helena did snarl, the sound a little too close to the real thing for Harleen to feel anything other than a frisson of fear. It was a delicious fear though, an arousing one. She never had been able to separate those things apart very well, something that had landed her in trouble more than once.

 

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with my… offerings,” Helena growled, keenly aware of her therapist’s spike of excitement. “You, of all people, should know that.”

 

“Pardon me?” Harleen questioned, her voice mildly incredulous.

 

More than anxious to turn attention away from herself and Barbara, Helena leaned forward in her chair, eyes hypnotic in their intensity. “If you want me so badly, Dr. Quinzel, then all you have to do is ask. Well, ask nicely, of course.”

 

Impressed, drawn despite herself by the aura of cocky arrogance surrounding the other woman, Harleen absently leaned forward herself, creating a sheen of tense intimacy. There was just simply something about a powerful, demanding person that got her engine revving. One had only to look at her Mr. J to see her weakness, after all. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harleen said, struggling for nonchalance but unable to hide the hint of anticipation in her tone. She was playing with fire, and with having her license revoked, but simple little obstacles like that had never truly bothered her.

 

Helena hadn’t actually expected the other woman to take up her barely veiled challenge, but there was something in Quinzel’s posture indicating that she was more than ready to jump the divide between aloof therapist and… and… well, Helena couldn’t quite bring herself to think lover, but there was no better term for it. Now that the prospect suddenly seemed like a reality, she wasn’t sure if it was what she wanted. She was attracted to the woman in the amorphous way that she was attracted to all beautiful women, but beyond a healthy appreciation for the curves hidden underneath the conservative lines of her suit, Helena wasn’t particularly interested in her doctor.

 

Then again, what better time to have meaningless sex than the present, she mused, feeling her impulsive side catapult itself to the fore. So, with a suggestive leer, she leaned back in her chair, spreading her legs lewdly, her open posture a far more direct challenge than her half-teasing words had ever been.

 

“I’m sure you do know, Doctor,” she said softly, one hand tracing down the front of her thin shirt to find the line of buttons on her leather pants. Popping each one with agonizing slowness, she opened the vee, baring tan flesh and the merest hint of black silk. “You want me so fucking bad I can practically smell it.”

 

It was a calculated ploy, one designed to either get her thrown out of the office completely or to call the other woman’s bluff, but after she did it, Helena began to doubt its effectiveness. It seemed Dr. Quinzel wasn’t at all ready to back down.

 

Unconsciously licking her lips, Harleen leaned even closer, pupils dilating almost immediately. The other woman was quite the specimen, with her soft caramel skin and the play of beautifully defined muscles rippling beneath tight flesh. There was also a pronounced conceit about her, a certainty that she was going to get what she wanted. Quite frankly, that kind of assuredness made Harleen wet. Very wet. “Perhaps you’ve misinterpreted the role of a therapist,” she said, her voice husky with arousal. Suddenly, this was something she wanted very, very badly.

 

“Perhaps you think I give a shit,” Helena replied airily, feeling extremely reckless. She could sense, both from the other woman’s replies and from her obvious arousal, that insults and sarcasm were the good doctor’s ultimate aphrodisiac. “I’m tired of talking, Dr. Quinzel. Either you come over here or I leave. Which is it?”

 

It was tempting. Tempting, tempting, tempting, tempting, oh so very tempting. No one had talked to her like that in quite a while. No one had had the guts to since her Mr. J got sent away, and she’d forgotten just how much she missed it. Forgotten just how intensely she got off on it. And she wanted it. Wanted it, wanted it, wanted it, wanted it…

 

The other woman was kneeling between her legs before Helena could even really prepare herself for it, beautifully manicured fingernails scraping harshly along the flesh of her hips as her pants were tugged down roughly. Quinzel didn’t even bother taking them completely off, just drew leather and silk down to Helena’s ankles then lifted her still joined legs in the air, balancing slim calves on her shoulders. Sharp nails dug into the muscles of her buttocks, pulling her forward on slick leather, and before Helena had time to consider whether or not she was completely committed to the course of action she’d apparently chosen, the broad flat of a tongue was tracing up her sex, and her hands were slipping against short tendrils of blonde hair, pressing the other woman more fiercely into the vee of her thighs.

 

“Oh, fuck yes,” she hissed in encouragement, still mildly shocked that it was even happening at all. But, she’d always been a ‘go with it’ kind of girl, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d had ill-advised sex. So, go with it she did, only barely remembering to rein in her strength. Not particularly concerned with being gentle, though, she raked her nails down Quinzel’s neck, tugged roughly on the short hairs at the nape of her neck, and ground herself against the other woman’s face just because she could. It was nothing more than a simple exercise in getting off, and when she did, when her body froze and the muscles in her thighs turned rock hard and her heartbeat sky-rocketed, she merely grunted her satisfaction and fell back against her chair, breathing raggedly. And, when she managed to come back down, body achingly unfulfilled despite the haze of completion pervading her limbs, she simply detached herself from Quinzel, placed a booted foot on each shoulder and pushed, sending the other woman sprawling.

 

Standing, pulling her pants back up and buttoning them with fluid grace even as she surveyed the other woman, as she took in the wetness of her arousal thick on Quinzel’s lips, the mixture of anger and utter satisfaction in the other woman’s eyes, she laughed humorlessly. “Thanks, Doc. It was fun, but I’m not up for talking any more today. Guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

 

“You bitch,” Quinzel said, though the words were more of a purr than a reproach.

 

Smirking, more than aware that her therapist had a host of issues of her own, Helena murmured, “Maybe, but I’ll bet you still think of me when you get yourself off.”

 

Before she could formulate a reply, Harleen found herself alone in her office. Then, with a shrug, she did exactly that.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“How’d it go with your therapist today?” Barbara asked absently, eyes locked on one of her many computer screens. She was inwardly extremely surprised that Helena had shown up at the Clocktower, almost certain that their days of easy camaraderie were gone, and with them the many hours the brunette spent watching her cable and rustling through her refrigerator.

 

“Eh,” Helena said, idly picking up the remote, “don’t think I’ll be going back to see her.”

 

“Oh?” Barbara asked, drawing attention away from the monitor to look in Helena’s direction, intrigued by this new piece of information. “Do you think you’ve worked through everything you need to?”

 

Secretly, she’d been quite pleased when Helena had been court ordered into therapy as part of her probation. While Barbara hadn’t ever been able to convince her she should go, she’d always thought that the other woman needed someone to talk to about everything that had happened to her. Someone other than herself, because no matter how much she wanted to help and how hard she tried, Barbara was far too intimately connected to the proceedings to provide an appropriate sounding board. Truth be told, she had contributed in great part to the brunette’s trauma. In her opinion, Helena had needed someone unbiased, someone who knew far more about how to handle grief than did Barbara, and someone who could actually help her, something the redhead had sincere doubts she could do.

 

Deciding whether or not to tell Barbara the truth of the matter but then figuring that, if anything, it would be interesting to see her reaction, Helena said nonchalantly, “Nah. I’m sure I’ve still got plenty to work on.”

 

Barbara’s brows drew together in confusion at the intentionally vague comment, sensing there was far more to the story. Far more that Helena wanted her to have to work for, apparently. “Then why won’t you be going back?” she asked, exasperated.

 

“Because I fucked her, and I imagine that tends to mess with a therapist’s objectivity,” Helena drawled, eyes glinting in anticipation as she awaited Barbara’s reaction.

 

She wasn’t disappointed. The other woman took in a startled gasp of air, eyes wide as she stared at Helena in incomprehension, quite sure she hadn’t heard correctly. “You mean you… with your therapist?” she asked jumpily, sounding distinctly unsettled.

 

Nodding her head, Helena took great delight in confirming Barbara’s delicately worded question. “Uh-huh. Sure did. Well actually…”

 

“NO!” Barbara nearly shouted, face turning bright red. “I mean, I’d really rather not hear the specifics. Helena, what were you thinking?”

 

Grinning, thoroughly enjoying both Barbara’s discomfort and the other woman’s vaguely jealous reaction, Helena said smugly, “I was thinking that she was hot for me, and that I really wouldn’t mind getting off. And, turned out she _was_ hot for me, and I quite enjoyed getting off.”

 

Which wasn’t technically true, but Barbara didn’t need to know that. Besides, empty pleasure was still pleasure, even if she did feel bad about herself after the fact.

 

“I can’t believe you… you… you…” Barbara couldn’t even say it. It wasn’t that she was prudish, though perhaps a part of her was. It was just that she didn’t want to think of Helena that way, didn’t want to hear about the other woman’s exploits, didn’t want to bear witness to her brazenly cavalier attitude toward sex. In part, it confirmed what she’d already known. She’d done the right thing when she’d pushed Helena away. Had she given in to what she’d wanted that night, she’d be in the therapist’s place now, nothing but another notch on the other woman’s belt, a story to tell and an experience to brag about. And, Barbara noticed, someone who wasn’t going to appear on Helena’s landscape again.

 

Yes, her choice had been the right one.

 

Even despite her amusement at Barbara’s indignation, Helena almost immediately felt her enjoyment start to fade. She’d done the same thing she always had… screw things up. One rash decision later, and she was minus a therapist, not to mention yet another rung lower on the scale of Barbara’s esteem. It had been fun to see the other woman’s reaction, and it had been fun, in some way, to exploit Dr. Quinzel as she had, but only seconds after reveling in her revelation, she doubted the wisdom of it. How would Barbara see her now? She’d once again done something brash and impulsive, something she undoubtedly shouldn’t have done, and only a week after she’d practically pleaded for Barbara’s love. And then, in the face of her monumentally bad judgment, she’d once again thrown caution and logic to the side in favor of drawing out some sort of a reaction. A reaction that had told her something, but not much, and even then it wasn’t worth the weight of the silent disapproval she could feel being mentally telegraphed her way.

 

So, deciding to try and salvage things a little, Helena said sheepishly, “Yeah, it was pretty dumb, wasn’t it?”

 

Lips quirking in exasperation, part of her undeniably drawn to the absolutely adorable look of contrition being sent her way, Barbara sighed. “Yeah, pretty dumb. What are you going to do about it?”

 

Wincing, thinking back to her parting words as she left Quinzel’s office, Helena explored her options. It didn’t take long.

 

“Nothing. I can’t go back there,” she said in defeat, having now completely crashed down from her earlier high.

 

Resisting the urge to wheel over and comfort the other woman, Barbara stayed silent. Part of her was actually rather glad that Helena had done what she’d done, and then shared it with her. If nothing else, they were talking once again, much as they had before the incident. Barbara could shift back into her role as mentor and advisor, and maybe if she tried hard enough to make things exactly like they had been before, they’d somehow revert back. Maybe it could be like nothing had ever happened, like nothing had changed.

 

 _And_ , she thought, snorting to herself, _maybe one day I’ll just wake up and be able to walk_.

 

Suddenly aware of the silence that had fallen, Barbara said awkwardly, “Maybe you can find another therapist.”

 

Helena shook her head at the suggestion, smiling softly. “Nah. I don’t really need to go. I’ll be fine.”

 

“Helena…” Barbara started, a warning tone in her voice.

 

“I said I’ll be fine,” Helena broke in, her voice surprisingly stern. Then, mood changing in a split second, she muttered, “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll get in touch with you when I do my sweep tonight, alright?”

 

“You can stay,” Barbara said quickly. _Too quickly_ , she berated herself, disgusted at her own neediness. She’d nearly gone insane when Helena had disappeared. The other woman had become such an integral part of her life, and to have her out there somewhere, doing God only knows what, had preyed on her mind. She’d pictured her dead, lying drunk in a gutter, or worst of all, taking comfort in the arms of another. Something she’d done at least once, apparently, judging by her sudden lack of an available therapist.

 

Helena hesitated for a moment, sensing an urgency in Barbara’s words, but headed for the door anyway. She couldn’t stay there, pretending like things were the way they’d always been. Not when she’d been so thoroughly and completely rejected. She might not have had many things, but she still had her pride.

 

Well, at least a little of it.

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Helena had thought she could do it. She’d been sure that she’d be able to move past what had happened, that she’d be able to reassimilate herself into Barbara’s life, but things weren’t working according to plan.

 

It probably would have been easier if hadn’t seen the brief touch in the second before Barbara had quickly slid her hand away from the back of Carolyn Lance’s thigh. It hadn’t been a touch of friends, and most certainly not of acquaintances. It had been a touch born of past intimacy, of that Helena was sure. Barbara just simply didn’t touch people easily. She was a fairly self-contained entity, and with rare exception, didn’t allow anyone into her personal space. Helena had lived with Barbara for close to a year before the other woman’s unconscious stiffening at initial contact went away, and for far longer, Barbara had been so sparing with her touches that to receive one became almost like a gift. So, to see her touch some stranger like that had been eye opening to say the least. She didn’t mention her suspicions to Dinah, of course, but Helena was almost absolutely positive that the blonde’s mother and Barbara had once been lovers.

 

As a result, she hadn’t been able to help her instinctive antagonism toward Carolyn Lance, and the other woman didn’t offer her a reason to change her view. Helena had reined in her impulse to flatten Canary because she was well aware of just how Barbara would react to that, and in the end, she knew it would only make a bad situation even worse for an already torn Dinah. But, the other woman’s jabs had certainly gotten to her. All of the insinuations that she wasn’t to be trusted, that she was, in essence, beneath Barbara and undeserving of her time, had worked on Helena. And, when coupled with her newfound knowledge that Barbara had, at one time, been far more than friends with the woman she let practically walk all over Helena, that she let disparage Helena’s mother… well, it wasn’t good. Not at all.

 

It wasn’t that she felt any measure of satisfaction in Carolyn Lance’s death. She wasn’t that far gone. Dinah deserved at least some chance to get to know her mother, even if the other woman had abandoned her, and bad attitude aside, Carolyn wasn’t an intrinsically bad person. In fact, she was far from it. She was a superhero. Yet another superhero, in fact, in a long line of superheroes. Yet another superhero who’d had Barbara in the way Helena wanted but had been denied. But, Black Canary hadn’t been denied… Nightwing either. Each had possessed the woman Helena desired, and the brunette couldn’t help thinking that there had to be something horribly wrong with her. And, some part of her couldn’t do anything about the fact that she hated Carolyn simply because she’d possessed that magical something Helena didn’t. That something that made her special enough to share Barbara’s bed, her life.

 

Things had been so busy before, when Hawke had nabbed Canary and Dinah had gone off after her. Then, after Carolyn’s death, there hadn’t really been time to process everything that had happened, and Helena found herself consumed with an overwhelming sense of compassion for the young blonde. She hadn’t known how to help, of course, and she still wasn’t completely convinced she liked the kid, but she knew exactly what the girl was going through. So, she’d stayed nearby, her presence silent support for the girl.

 

Despite her best intentions, though, Dinah hadn’t really needed her help. She had Barbara, and Barbara was far better at wiping tears and listening sympathetically than Helena was, and so she’d taken off yet again. There was only so much time she could spend in the Clocktower without going completely insane, and so she’d decided that the events of the past week and a half had been more than enough to merit a night out. Accordingly, she’d headed out to her favorite club, ordered up a row of shots, tried to fall into the grips of the dance music tugging at her consciousness, and convinced herself she was going to have a good time. Only, the good time didn’t seem to be anywhere in her future, and the more she drank the more she thought about Barbara with her hand indecently high on the back of Carolyn Lance’s thigh. The more she thought about that, the more infuriated she became, until it became imperative to confront Barbara with her lie of omission, to see how she’d manage to wiggle her way out of it.

 

Scaling the wall of the Clocktower wasn’t the brightest thing to do in her inebriated condition, but Helena didn’t care. Some part of her almost wished that she’d fall, that she could simply lose her balance and have all of her problems disappear. She wouldn’t fall though, and even if she did, she knew she’d manage to land on her feet. There was no easy way out for her. At least, not that way.

 

Nimble fingers keyed in the security code on the box out on the balcony, and she slipped inside, eyes adjusting quickly to the dimly lit open area of the main floor. Barbara wasn’t there, and judging by the absolute quiet blanketing the place, hadn’t been there in quite some time. That meant she was in her living quarters, and so, with resolute steps, Helena moved in that direction, throwing open the door that lead to Barbara’s apartment with conviction born of anger. The door moved silently on well-oiled hinges, drawing some fire away from the move, but Helena moved forward, undeterred by the lack of suitable, accompanying drama. She had almost made her way to Barbara’s bedroom when a faint spill of light from the kitchen caught her eye, and she reversed direction, taking a deep breath for fortification. She wanted the upcoming confrontation to be as messy as possible.

 

The opened refrigerator door blocked her view of Barbara, and she stood for a second, listening to the other woman rustle through its meager contents before saying softly, “Barbara, we’ve got to talk.”

 

There was a bump and a curse, the voice most definitely not Barbara’s, and then a dark head appeared to peer at her, followed shortly thereafter by a nearly nude male body. It was Wade, some dork of a teacher Barbara had brought by once or twice and claimed to be dating. Helena hadn’t really thought much of it, because Barbara really didn’t date. She pretended that she was dating occasionally, but Helena had been witness to a number of those sham relationships and was vividly aware of their lack of depth. They usually lasted about three weeks, and were quickly followed by the obligatory and often painful period of ducking unwanted phone calls.

 

Apparently, though, this time was different, because there was Wade, open carton of orange juice clutched tightly in one hand, boring white boxers covering up all the skin he’d apparently wanted covered. Helena noted idly that his body wasn’t all that bad, the observation one she didn’t particularly want to make.

 

Wade absently rubbed the back of his head where he’d banged it into the top of the refrigerator, staring at Helena in confusion all the while. He’d met the other woman twice, and both times he’d been distinctly unimpressed. Well, perhaps unimpressed wasn’t quite the right word. Helena was certainly attractive, though he knew rationally that her beauty wasn’t a conventional one. In fact, it owed itself more to the nearly crackling field of sexual energy surrounding her, taking attention away from cheekbones that weren’t quite sharp enough and a nose that was more cute than anything else. She’d also seemed quite charismatic, and her barely veiled jabs at him had hinted at an impressive intelligence. So no, unimpressed wasn’t correct at all. Maybe dislike would have been more appropriate, because he’d gotten the distinct impression that she was more than unhappy at his introduction. Not that it was a problem – the feeling had definitely been mutual. There had been something about the way she’d looked at Barbara and then at him, one glance full of barely muted desire and the other of not-so-veiled threat, that had made her position plain. They both wanted the same thing, and she was not at all thrilled at his inclusion in the game.

 

None of which mattered, really, because he was the one who’d just left Barbara’s bed, and not her. The thought brought a smirk to his face, one he didn’t have the sense to hide.

 

“Sorry, Barbara’s asleep,” he said smugly, raising the carton of orange juice to his lips for a long gulp. He knew he was rubbing the other woman’s face in it, but he couldn’t help it. The natural antagonism between them and his sense of victory didn’t allow for anything else.

 

Helena was quite certain she had to be screeching in pain, but oddly enough, the kitchen was deadly silent. Wade was in Barbara’s kitchen with his triumphant, shit-eating grin, telling her that Barbara was asleep. He was in his underwear drinking orange juice straight from the carton, a move guaranteed to earn Barbara’s disapproval. And, he was gloating. He had won and he knew it, and he wasn’t above letting her know it.

 

Helena felt the already weak grasp she had on her self-control snap completely.

 

With a cry of pure fury, she nearly flew over the space between them, a stiff forearm to the throat pushing Wade back into the refrigerator with such force that it left a dent in the sheet rock behind it. Dropping the juice to the floor, he clawed at her arm, surprise and fear evident in his eyes, and she leaned in so close to him that she could smell Barbara on his skin and snarled, “You don’t deserve her, and if you fucking lay a hand on her again, I swear I’ll kill you.”

 

Helena pulled back, watching with some measure of satisfaction as Wade’s hands immediately went to his neck, as he struggled to pull in oxygen. Then, with a howl of near glee, she punched him, the blow hard enough to knock him off of his feet and back into the refrigerator once more, and as she watched him slump down to the floor, eyes hazy from the force of the blow, she growled, “You don’t deserve her.”

 

She turned, intent on making her way out of Barbara’s apartment, sure that she needed to calm down before she did anything else to get herself in trouble, such as killing Wade. Unfortunately, when she turned, she came face to face with an extremely furious Barbara. Correction, an extremely furious Barbara wearing nothing more than a half-way buttoned, oversized men’s dress shirt. Temper flaring even higher at the sight, at the possession the garment inferred, Helena stalked forward until she was standing in front of the scowling redhead, arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

 

“What happened to having standards, Barbara?” she asked sweetly, eyes flashing.

 

Green eyes hardened as Barbara struggled to pull in her temper. For the most part, she considered herself a sane, rational and quite level-headed individual. She didn’t lose her calm, didn’t act rashly… unless Helena was around. For some reason, the brunette’s mere presence seemed to send her life rushing into chaos, her actions into anarchy. She said things she shouldn’t, wanted things she couldn’t have, and made decisions on the spur of the moment.

 

And, catalyzed by her anger at the violence, at Helena’s presumption, at the way she had been treated, almost as if she were a prize to be won, she said simply, “I turned you down, didn’t I?”

 

It was wrong, and she knew it was wrong as soon as she said it. The sheer cruelty of the statement was out of character, the words backed by venom she didn’t possess. She hadn’t meant to say it, really she hadn’t, but there it was, out in the open between them and horribly, irrevocably irretrievable. Even as she saw Helena pale, as she watched a virtual wave of hurt ripple through the other woman’s body, she couldn’t make her mouth move, couldn’t take the words back. It was as if her entire body was paralyzed, and as Helena straightened her shoulders, as she walked past Barbara to disappear into the Clocktower, the redhead didn’t say a word.

 

It was when she heard the door leading out of her apartment slam that Barbara realized she was going to have to do something to fix the mess her thoughtless words had created. Wheeling about sharply, not even hearing Wade’s groan of pain nor giving the crumpled man a second thought, she followed after Helena, making it back to the Clocktower just in time to catch the other woman about to disappear out onto the balcony.

 

“Helena, wait,” she called out, her voice breathless. The other woman stopped, shoulders still unnaturally stiff, but didn’t turn.

 

Trying to even out her breathing, Barbara rolled across the floor until she was alongside Helena, looking up into the brunette’s face. The other woman’s chin was clenched tightly, and the near-constant tic of a small muscle under her right eye betrayed the amount of concentration she was exerting on simply remaining calm.

 

Reaching forward, capturing unresponsive fingers in her own, Barbara said softly, “I didn’t mean it. You have to know that. I was angry with you for what you did to Wade and I struck back, but it wasn’t true.”

 

Helena took a deep breath, the air hissing in through her nose, then calmly pulled her hand away, stepping back from Barbara and putting more space between them. “Kidding when you said you turned me down?” she asked, her tone acid. “Because I seem to remember you being serious about that.”

 

Closing her eyes and sighing, not happy with the turn the conversation had taken, Barbara mumbled, “I was talking about the other.”

 

She winced even as she said it, cursing her lack of conversational skills. Barbara might have been able to converse comfortably with heads of state and foreign dignitaries, but when it came to simple interpersonal relations, she had the skills of a mostly non-verbal five year old.

 

Turning sharply, feral eyes clearly revealing the depths of her emotion turmoil, Helena rasped painfully, “Oh, you mean you were kidding when you said you turned me down because you have standards? Standards that I obviously don’t meet? Not that I didn’t already know that. Yeah, I’m not relationship material. We covered that already, and I’ve got no proof to refute it. And I guess you weren’t lying about there being plenty of people out there just waiting to crawl into your bed. You certainly showed me up on that one.”

 

“Helena…” Barbara said weakly, stunned by the accusations, true though they were, and by the pain she saw in the other woman’s face. She never meant to cause anything like that.

 

“No,” Helena said sharply, cutting Barbara off with a slash of her hand. “You don’t get to talk. Tell me the truth about why you don’t want me or don’t tell me anything at all.”

 

“Helena,” Barbara whispered, reaching once more for the other woman’s hand and once more being denied, “it’s not like you think.”

 

“Oh, it’s not?” Helena shot back sarcastically. “Because I’m kind of sure it’s exactly like I think. Two weeks ago you turn me down, and tonight I find some half-naked geek in your kitchen? If you just want to fuck, I can guarantee you that I’m better than that jackass. Don’t tell me it’s not because of me, Barbara, that there’s not something wrong with me, because otherwise, I should have been with you tonight. Everything else you’ve said to me is nothing but pure bullshit. You’re not looking for a relationship with what’s-his-name, so don’t even bother trying to convince me that you are. Take that away and you know what it leaves me with, Barbara? Nothing. Not one single reason why we shouldn’t be together, other than the fact that you apparently can’t stand the thought of it and don’t even have the guts to just tell me. So come on. Deny it. Make me believe there’s a reason. A real, valid reason. Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me something I can believe, because I can’t live like this.”

 

Barbara sighed in defeat. She was feeling too much. Shame, because everything Helena had said was true. She’d lied, and she’d hid the truth of her feelings from herself and the brunette. Cowardice, because Helena’s accusations were dead on. Fear, because she was afraid of what would happen, afraid of the ramifications of a relationship between them. Helena was full of passion and vigor and an undeniable zest for life, and the more she thought about the other woman being chained to her, to a paraplegic science nerd, the more ludicrous the idea sounded. By remaining firm in her conviction, she was doing them both a favor. Helena wouldn’t have to come up with a way to leave her, and she wouldn’t get left. Even if some part of her whispered that she’d lost sight of the reality of the situation, that she’d chosen the wrong course of action and was sticking with it for equally wrong reasons, she couldn’t listen. This was the way she’d protect herself.

 

“Can’t you just accept the fact that it’s not going to be, Helena?” Barbara asked plaintively, palms tracing a nervous path down the front of her thighs to rest on her knees.

 

For a long moment, the other woman was silent. Then, in a voice so soft that Barbara had to strain to hear, she said, “No, I can’t. And you shouldn’t either. I never knew you were such a coward, Barbara.”

 

Before the redhead could reply, before she could even think of the words she wanted to say, Helena was gone, having cleared the gap between their rooftop and the next with a seemingly easy leap. Barbara watched as she landed softly, as she turned to look back one last time before sprinting off in the other direction. An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that it might be the last time she saw that particularly soulful gaze for quite some time.

 

Barbara didn’t even bother to check the tears running freely down her cheeks.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“My, my… what a surprise. I didn’t think I’d see you again, Helena,” Harleen purred, unreasonably excited to see the other woman once again draped across the supple leather chair opposite her own. She’d kept their regular appointment time open, something she considered a vain hope even as she did it. But, when she’d walked her last client to the door after their session, she’d caught sight of the familiar tousled brunette, and hadn’t been able to hold back a smirk.

 

Harleen held no illusions about the other woman, nor about what had happened between them the week before. As a highly trained psychologist, she was well aware of the origins of her behavior. There were certain things she craved… no, things she needed, and she’d been without them for a long time. Giving in to her desire for her beautiful, aggressive client had not necessarily been the wisest thing to do, but she didn’t regret it. She didn’t believe in living life as a succession of regrets. Granted, that philosophy had landed her in a tight spot or twenty over the years, but all in all, she felt it was quite worth it.

 

She even knew where her more base desires stemmed from, though they weren’t places she normally cared to look. Deep inside, some part of her craved debasement and humiliation, and if that was a reflection of the hidden, inner core of herself that didn’t believe she was worthy of more, then so be it. There were multiple layers on top of that one, all of which built a shell of well-deserved confidence and arrogance. If that core had to be nurtured on occasion, then it was simply a small price to pay in exchange for the health of the rest of her.

 

The sound of her client’s voice pulled Harleen back into the present, and she scrambled to catch up with what the other woman was saying.

 

“I didn’t think I’d come,” Helena muttered, feeling uneasy and agitated. She hadn’t been back to Barbara’s since their last confrontation, and quite frankly didn’t have any intentions of returning. It was something she knew wouldn’t last forever, more of an instinctive response geared toward self-protection, but for the moment, she’d made herself believe it. Unfortunately, without Barbara as her natural recourse in her downtime, she was lonely. Incredibly, oppressively lonely, even though it had only been a few days since she’d last seen the other woman. Barbara was the only person in the world who understood her, one of the few people Helena had ever managed to care for, and without her, the brunette was quite lost. So lost, in fact, that the mere thought of not having Barbara around sent her spiraling quite quickly into the grips of depression. Well, even greater depression. She’d been depressed for weeks, if not years. When Barbara was around, though, things didn’t seem so bad. Not that thinking about Barbara not being around did anything to help the depression, so with a sigh, Helena resigned herself to being caught, helpless, in the midst of a rather vicious cycle.

 

Harleen took in the other woman’s dejected tone, her boneless sprawl. Helena wasn’t very good at hiding things, no matter how much she thought differently.

 

“You’re looking positively suicidal today,” she remarked off-handedly, smirking at the glare she got in response.

 

Straightening, making more of a conscious effort to appear sane even if she didn’t quite feel sane, Helena snarked, “Where’d you go to school? De Sade University for Sadistic Therapists? Aren’t you supposed to at least pretend to be concerned about me?”

 

Rolling her eyes slightly, Harleen replied, “I just don’t see any use in prevarication. What good do I do you if I pretend you’re fine and you pretend you’re fine and then we fuck and start pretending again?”

 

Wincing, thrown by the bored tone Dr. Quinzel had used and sent back to wallow in her own guilt at the mere mention of the previous week’s session, Helena muttered, “Yeah. Look, I’m sorry about that…”

 

“Oh, please,” the other woman broke in, annoyed. “Don’t say things you don’t mean just to tidy up your messes. You’re not sorry and I’m not sorry, and that’s the end of that until we do it again.”

 

Snorting in amusement at the doctor’s dismissal of her apology, Helena purred, “Awfully confident, aren’t you, Dr. Quinzel? Who said anything about it happening again?”

 

Eyes narrowing maliciously, Harleen shot back, voice razor sharp, “What’s to keep it from happening again? I had fun, you had fun, and it’s not as if there’s anyone else. For you, I mean. Or maybe you look so happy because Barbara finally said yes,” she finished sarcastically, enjoying the flash of pain and rage her words caused.

 

“I told you before, Barbara’s not an issue any more,” Helena ground out stiffly, furious with the other woman. Quinzel was quite familiar with her painfully obvious hot button, and had absolutely no qualms about pushing it.

 

Harleen took in Helena’s form, stiff to the point of breaking, and the ever deepening bags beneath her eyes. “But something happened, didn’t it? Tell me what’s gone on since last we spoke.”

 

For a moment, Helena debated the wisdom of sharing everything. It wasn’t as if Quinzel had proven herself to be a kind and sympathetic listener, but really, there was no one else to turn to. Besides, if she was angry then at least she wasn’t sad. There was nothing she hated worse than being boring, depressed and impotent little Helena doing little more than moping about, whining about her problems to anyone who would listen.

 

“I went by to see her one night, caught her in bed with this guy. Well, I didn’t catch her in bed, per se. I caught him in the kitchen in his undies, beat the hell out of him, and managed to piss her off thoroughly. I think she might have kicked me out if I hadn’t left first,” Helena said bitterly, her much reduced version of events highlighting all the points she found salient enough to mention.

 

“Poor, poor Helena,” Harleen said, her voice kittenish, a confusing combination of soft and sharp. “Turned down by the only woman she’s probably ever loved. No wonder you’re so bitter, so –,” she paused, shivering deliciously, “– _rough_. What _are_ you going to do now?”

 

“I’ve got my own life,” Helena muttered defensively, sliding deeper into her chair, not quite sure she liked the assessing look being thrown her way. “I’ve got a job and an apartment. It’ll just take a little time.”

 

Harleen felt an impulse, one she wasn’t sure she should follow. Perhaps she was being led by her libido and not by her brain, something that wouldn’t necessarily be a first for her, but she had a feeling that Helena was ripe for the taking. Metaphorically, that was. Or, not so metaphorically. She was more than happy to have her cake and eat it too.

 

“Perhaps I know of something to help take your mind off things. Do you really want to forget Barbara, forget all about her?” Harleen asked, her voice tantalizingly provocative.

 

Intrigued despite herself, Helena leaned forward, nodding her head to indicate her willingness to learn more.

 

“Barbara was all goody-goody good girl, wasn’t she? Daddy was Commissioner Gordon, she’s a teacher… public service and all the boring honesty, justice and fairness rhetoric that comes with it. But she wasn’t honest with you, was she? She wasn’t just or fair with you? You don’t have to hide behind those things, Helena. You don’t have to follow the rules I’ll bet she set up for you. You’ve got such potential,” Harleen said softly, her voice so full of longing it was almost liquid. “I can see it inside you. Anger, rage, pain… that’s all there too, of course, and we can certainly use that. But, more than anything, I see someone who is smart, driven, and skilled enough take another path. A very, very lucrative path. That is, if you want. Be everything Barbara would hate. Stop letting her control you.”

 

Helena was intrigued, both by the unnamed opportunity Quinzel was offering her and by the prospect that she’d accidentally stumbled into something quite interesting indeed.

 

Almost demurely, she said, “I can’t take another path if I don’t know which way it leads first.”

 

Feeling a triumphant smile cross her lips, sure that the bait had been taken, Harleen felt herself relax just a tiny bit. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be quite happy with the direction. But first, I need you to do a little something for me. Call it a test.”

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Helena dropped down lightly onto the roof of GenetiX Labs, the tall, narrow shadows of nearby buildings hiding her from any eyes that might have been watching. She’d definitely stumbled onto something, though what it was she didn’t quite know. Her therapist was into far more than counseling, and from the task she’d been given to prove her worth, Helena knew that whatever it was, it was big. It was the kind of big that Barbara would want to know about and infiltrate, but she didn’t think Barbara had picked up on it yet. Or maybe… no. She couldn’t think about Barbara. She had things to do, and thinking about Barbara was the height of counter-productivity.

 

Trying to recall everything her mother had ever told her, mind recalling sly smiles and the mischievous glint of sharply slit eyes more so than anything else, Helena made her way over to the roof-top access door on the far side of the building. Sliding off the bag she’d slung securely over her shoulders, she extracted a set of lock picks, easily flicking open the case to reveal a row of tools, each gleaming dully in the light of the quarter moon. After a quick examination of the door, cat-sharp eyes giving her more than enough detail even in the dark of night, she chose one from the set, nimble fingers delicately easing the pick into place and manipulating the lock with the skill of a seasoned burglar. A few seconds later and she was inside, another more complicated tool set out and being put to use to disable the alarm system.

 

Completing the task efficiently, sure her Mother would be more than proud of her skills, she made her way down the hallway. GenetiX Labs had a large, open courtyard that extended all the way to the top of the building, with offices and labs arranged around it, as if the designers had thought they could create a skyless oasis in a land of concrete and steel. Almost all of the building’s lights were out, but a sudden, instinctive streak of cautiousness hit, and Helena found a secluded corner and pressed herself into it, trying to slow her breathing. Excitement made it more difficult than usual to do so, but when she finally managed, she turned her acute sense of hearing outward, picking up the footsteps of a single guard somewhere far below her, and the hum and whirr of various machines. The place was practically deserted.

 

Staying in the shadows until the last possible moment, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, envisioning the jump to come. Then, with a sudden flurry of almost agitated motion, Helena hurled herself over the top floor railing, sailing effortlessly over the open area to land ten floors below where she had been, hands easily grabbing the top of the opposite railing. A quick bounce on the balls of her feet sent her up and over the barrier in what her ego imagined to be a visually stunning back-handspring. Landing silently, she quickly made her way back into the shadows, poised in silent apprehension for several minutes to make sure no alarm had been raised. Satisfied that her acrobatics hadn’t been spotted, she began the search for her destination, scooting furtively down the hallway, looking for the room number she’d committed to memory earlier in the evening.

 

The door, when she finally found it, had a cardkey access slot, just as Quinzel had said it would. Moving slowly, acutely aware of the open vulnerability of her position, Helena slid her pack off once more, unzipping it as silently as possible. The handy bit of technology she’d been given to combat this particular lock was resting securely in the bottom of her bag. It looked innocuous enough, a thin piece of plastic no larger than a credit card with a slim cord attaching it to an equally small black box. Sliding it down the slot in the access panel beside the door belied it’s apparently benign nature, though, and red flashed to green as the barely audible snick of a lock flipping echoed through the hallway. Sliding the door open just far enough to enable her to slip through, Helena made her way into the darkened lab, eyes quickly adjusting to the much dimmer light.

 

Burnished steel countertops and cabinets shone with nearly incandescent brightness, and as she slipped between them, Helena couldn’t help but admire the almost militaristic order of the room. The lack of clutter certainly made her job much easier, and she made her way quickly over to the cold storage unit. She also became distinctly and uncomfortably aware of the excitement coursing through her, strong enough to bring a tremor to her hands and a flash of silver in front of her eyes. It was disconcerting to realize that she’d never felt the same thrill during a sweep as she did in the confines of the darkened lab, black leather no longer a tool of intimidation but rather camouflage.

 

Decompressing air hissed out into the room as she opened the door to the refrigeration unit whose lock she’d just picked, and she was momentarily blinded by the bellows of icy steam. When her vision cleared once again, she turned her attention to the samples in front of her, all neatly labeled and stored. She wasn’t completely sure what they were, but was quite certain she didn’t want to be in contact with them for any longer than was necessary. Grimacing, wishing she’d paid a bit more attention in science class, Helena rustled through her pack once again, this time producing a small silver suitcase. Grabbing the first samples she saw, she tucked them neatly into the padded interior of the case, easing them in with nervous care. Closing and locking the case, relieved when the vials were out of sight and presumably no longer a danger to her, she shut the door to the storage unit and slipped the case into her pack once again.

 

Helena knew the easy part of her evening was finished. While she’d been able to make the leap down ten floors with ease, making the same jump back up just wasn’t possible. Had there been enough room for her to get adequate speed and momentum first then it wouldn’t have been a problem, but the relatively narrow walkway was far from sufficient. That meant a trip up the stairs, something with which she wasn’t entirely happy. Enclosed areas offered less protection, and if the security guard happened upon her, there was less of a chance of getting away without having to somehow incapacitate him, and Helena wasn’t going to let someone get hurt just so she could work through the enigmatic Dr. Quinzel’s scheme.

 

Finding the stairwell was much more difficult than finding the office had been, but after five agonizingly long minutes of searching, of keeping in the shadows and skirting from barely hidden hiding place to slightly more conspicuous hiding place, Helena spotted it. Breathing a sigh of relief, she slid a glove-encased hand over the thin sliver of metal, pressed down, and stepped inside.

 

And cringed….

 

The piercing shrieks of the alarm system she’d been sure she disabled startled her, and Helena stood for a second, listening in shocked disbelief before realizing that it was in her best interests to make herself scarce. Looking up at the distance she had to cover with trepidation, she began to move. Taking the steps five at a time, she was well on her way up to the top when the sound of a door slamming open below her caught her attention, and she paused, peeking down over the railing to see who was following her.

 

“Hey… Hey, you up there! Stop!”

 

“Shit,” Helena muttered, eyes rolling. If she got arrested again because of this, Barbara would kill her. Well, actually Barbara might not speak to her at all. She might have to actually face this conviction alone, and prison jumpsuit orange had never been a color that complimented her complexion.

 

“I said stop!” came the voice again, this time much more insistent than before. And, as Helena heard the loud rapport of a gun and the ping of a bullet bouncing off of the concrete wall somewhere behind her, she revised her earlier concern. Barbara would kill her if the idiot behind her didn’t first.

 

Reaching the top of the staircase in a barely controlled skid, dodging another wildly fired bullet, she paused to look down and see how far behind her the security guard was. “Thought you couldn’t shoot at fleeing suspects, buddy,” she muttered, seeing the man racing up the stairs several floors below her, gun waving precariously as he peeked in between the railings.

 

Unwilling to stay there and face possible maiming any longer, Helena burst through the upstairs door and back onto the roof again, stumbling for a moment in the brisk wind that had picked up considerably since she’d gone inside. There was another rooftop a street away and two stories up, and so she began to run, gauging the amount of speed it would take to give her adequate distance. As soon as she planted her foot and leaped, however, Helena knew something was wrong. She hadn’t taken into account the sudden, furious gust of wind that battered her airborne body, and in horror, she watched the building start to almost waver in front of eyes stinging with cold-induced tears. Barely catching herself on the very corner of the rooftop, one hand wrapping up and over the building’s ridge, she was unable to stop her body from careening into the metal and glass side wall. Grunting in pain as her ribs took the majority of the force, she felt the grip of her fingers slip as she began to literally slide down the slick surface of the building.

 

Falling three floors before her fingers found purchase on a windowsill, she dug in with all of her strength, halting her descent. Hanging there for a moment, once again battered by increasingly strong winds, she caught her breath and attempted to return her heartbeat to something close to normal. When that was accomplished, she eased her way across the side of the building, inching along with agonizing slowness but unable to move any faster for fear of losing her already tenuous grip, until she was in back of it, out of sight of the rooftop of GenetiX Labs. Once out of sight, she scurried down until she was on stable ground once more, flinching slightly as the imperfections in the metal raked at her fingertips through the inadequate protection of her gloves. Then, once on solid ground again, she shoved her hands in her pockets and began to walk calmly away, not even flinching as a cacophony of sirens broke through the night air.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

The Delphi alarm stunned Barbara out of the fog in which she’d been swimming since Helena had disappeared into the night for the second time the week before. Fingers searching for her glasses, she tried focusing on the computer screen before her without them, eyes squinting as she scanned over the fuzzy text.

 

She’d configured the computer to monitor the police scanners for her, and the use of certain words was designed to immediately signal for her personal attention. Modified voice recognition software translated it all into text format for her, so only a few seconds after a call was radioed in to the New Gotham Police Department, Barbara was reading its transcript.

 

This call appeared to be a break-in at the GenetiX Labs building downtown. The security guard reported shots fired, but hadn’t gotten a good look at the perp, and Barbara sighed with relief at the prospect that she was actually going to have something to do. Flexing her fingers, she pulled herself closer to the array of keyboards she’d designed to surround her, and went to work breaking into GenetiX’s computer system. Security was suitably vigilant… not particularly challenging in light of her hacking skills, but it would keep out the hundreds of amateurish attempts to break through their firewalls the company undoubtedly received weekly. No problem for her, though, and within minutes, Barbara had made her way into the segment that housed the surveillance tapes, and a click of a button started the process that would digitally record onto her computer the images the cameras had captured.

 

Only giving the tapes cursory attention, the majority of her resources engaged in ensuring no one knew she was there, Barbara almost missed it. But there was no way, really, that she couldn’t be drawn to the all too familiar face that popped up on the surveillance footage, and with a gasp, she slowed the stream, freezing a frame, sure that her eyes had been playing tricks on her.

 

They hadn’t.

 

There, in all of her glory, was Helena, dressed completely in black and carrying a bulging satchel, and Barbara felt her heart skip a beat. Her mind raced in an attempt to come up with a viable excuse for why, exactly, the other woman would be there. After a few seconds, she came to the conclusion that there wasn’t one. Well, no good reason, and Barbara deliberately staved off the number of other, grossly unappealing reasons that instantly sprang to mind. Not that it was something she could worry about at that exact second, however. There were more important things to do.

 

Moving quickly, sure that her time in the system was limited, Barbara snipped out the segments with Helena in them, looping the empty security footage back in on itself, virtually erasing the other woman from the tapes. She didn’t think about what she was doing or why, she just did it. Protecting Helena was second nature to her, and she wasn’t about to have the police out on a manhunt for the other woman before she figured out what was going on herself.

 

After sneaking out of the system the same way she’d come in, Barbara collapsed wearily back into her chair, mind spinning. What was Helena doing? Had she finally decided to take after her mother? In light of their disagreements, had Helena given up on the crime-fighter role to step into the shadows as a criminal?

 

It was unthinkable, but Barbara couldn’t deny what she’d seen on the tape. Helena had broken in to GenetiX Labs, stolen something, and was quite lucky she hadn’t gotten herself shot. Without knowing what she’d taken, Barbara couldn’t be sure of the other woman’s motivation. Before talking to Helena, before hearing first-hand just what the other woman had been thinking, Barbara steadfastly refused to let herself seriously consider any of the less attractive options swirling through her thoughts, no matter how high the evidence in their favor. Quite simply, she couldn’t bring herself to accept that Helena would turn against everything they’d built together.

 

Then again, she was also well aware that Helena wasn’t in the best of mental states, largely… well, wholly, due to her. Barbara had been battling with herself for years, unable to deny her growing attraction for her much younger friend and, in the technical sense, ward, but unable to accept it either. So, she’d tried to stem her feelings, but Barbara had quickly learned that no matter how rigid her control over them purported to be, there wasn’t really anything she could do. Helena was enchanting, and nothing if not viscerally compelling. Those times, when she was nothing but a jumble of raw emotion and pain, were perhaps just as enticing as the times when she wasn’t. There was something about the untamed, unrestrained life running through her veins, with all of the grief and anguish that came with it, that called to Barbara at a primal level she normally tried to avoid.

 

The first year had been rough. So rough, in fact, that Barbara had constantly doubted her wisdom in accepting custody of the obviously troubled teen. She was adjusting to the new limitations on her life, not really doing so with any measure of success, and not at all in the best frame of mind to deal with Helena’s difficulties. There had been days when the two of them had sat in morose silence, each holed up in their own individual quarters of Barbara’s small apartment, with little or no contact with each other or the world in general. She hadn’t been oblivious to Helena’s needs and her problems, but she hadn’t really known what to do about them, and hadn’t been able to fight past her depression enough to try and find the answers. In fact, it wasn’t until the day she’d pushed open the door to Helena’s room to see if the girl wanted something to eat only to find blue eyes looking at her guiltily, a razor sharp knife dripping blood dangling loosely from her fingers, that Barbara had realized that if she didn’t change, one or both of them would probably wind up dead.

 

She’d rolled into the room, flicking on the light as she went, watching as Helena flinched as it hit eyes too long accustomed to the darkness. Barbara had been in a state of unnaturally surreal calm as she approached, some part of her trying desperately to dissociate from the situation, until she saw the line of thin, shallow cuts trailing up the inside of Helena’s arm in a disturbingly orderly progression from almost healed scars to increasingly angry looking wounds. That was when she’d lost it, snatching the blade from Helena’s fingers and flinging it to embed in the far wall, hands reaching out to cradle the blood covered limb in her hands, head falling forward in dejection.

 

“Why did you do this to yourself?” she’d whispered, voice rough with restrained emotion, heart finally tearing away from the icy isolation it had been occupying for months, the separation almost unbearably painful.

 

“Because…” Helena had rasped, pain lacing each syllable as she struggled to find the words to explain it all, “because I just wanted to feel something again.”

 

Barbara had gently cleaned and bandaged the girl’s cuts, appalled at herself for not having noticed just how far gone Helena was. For not noticing just how far gone she was.

 

Things had changed after that. They’d moved, getting away from the pall that had settled over Barbara’s old apartment. Since Helena had missed a great deal of school, Barbara made it her mission to bring the girl up to speed, and so she did. When Helena rejoined her class at the start of her senior year, not having had to be held back on account of what Barbara perceived as her personal failing to safeguard Helena as she should, it had been one of the happier days of her life. She’d even started to take more interest in herself, something she hadn’t done since she’d awoken to find out she was paralyzed with little to no hope of any recovery of the loss of function she’d sustained. With Helena there, and with her finally seeing the girl, seeing how much she was needed, she had something to live for again.

 

It had taken yet more time for them to move on, to reclaim the parts of themselves that had been sacrificed in the wake of depression and self-pity, but it had happened. Helena recaptured her dry sense of humor, her aura of invincibility, and she brought Barbara along with her. It had actually been Helena who had planted the seeds of what had evolved into their partnership. She’d challenged Barbara one day when the redhead had let the losses and the pressures get to her despite her best efforts, had asked her why she kept going if her life so was fucking miserable, and if it wasn’t, then when was she going to start using her more phenomenal talents, none of which had anything to do with her legs. Barbara still remembered her exact words in all of their inelegant glory, the mix of keen intelligence and careless slang a natural defense Helena assumed, for reasons the other woman couldn’t begin to understand.

 

“ _Fuck, Barbara, you’re the smartest person I know, and as cheesy as it sounds, you can do anything you want to do. You want to fight criminals? Do it, then. Jumping around on rooftops ain’t nothing but grunt work anyway, and most anybody with half a brain and a fitness club membership can do it. All you’ve got to do is find where you fit, and everything else will work itself out.”_

 

Strangely prophetic in retrospect, she mused.

 

And, once again, Helena had given Barbara new purpose, had known something Barbara would have known had she not still been trapped by the dulling lethargy of self-pity. The legs of an operation were replaceable, but the heart, brain and soul of one were not.

 

Still, through it all, she’d had to try and avoid the attraction, calling herself a pervert, a pedophile, and every other name she could come up with to beat down the attraction she held for a woman several years her junior. It hadn’t really worked, though, because the physical attraction was only a small part of what drew her. She was fascinated by the seemingly unsolvable puzzle Helena presented. She was smart, funny and charismatic, yet also deeply troubled, brooding and prone to violence. She was both sides of the coin wrapped up in one, and Barbara knew that sometimes it was hard to manage the constantly raging fight between those competing sides of herself. Her mother’s death and Barbara’s drive to preserve and enforce justice had pushed her in one direction, but the redhead always had the niggling thought in the back of her mind that if those things hadn’t happened, then Helena wouldn’t have chosen the path she had. Not at all.

 

Which was why, really, Barbara absolutely had to talk with her. If Helena had decided to indulge her darker impulses, then Barbara was going to have to decide what to do about it.

 

She wasn’t completely certain she’d be able to do anything at all.

 

Leaving a note and some dinner money for Dinah, Barbara maneuvered herself into the van for the short trip over to Helena’s apartment. The place was fairly nice, and, Barbara acknowledged ruefully, undoubtedly chosen with the possibility of her visiting in mind, because it had a large elevator and spacious hallways, two things that certainly made her life easier. The trip up to Helena’s floor was short, the ding announcing her arrival there prompting Barbara to take a deep breath for fortification before rolling out into the hallway.

 

Pausing for a moment outside Helena’s door, she raised her fist, preparing to knock. A flutter of nerves pushed her to lower it once more, though, until cursing herself for a coward, she finally did bring knuckles to hardwood, the sound echoing sharply down the hallway. Listening intently for footsteps, Barbara was rewarded with the resounding silence of nothing, and her brow wrinkled as she thought over her options. She could either give up and try back another day, something she silently acknowledged she might not be able to work up the courage to do in the near future, or go inside and wait while emotions and adrenaline provided the impetus to enter into what she knew would be yet another potentially painful confrontation. It only took a few moments thought to decide there was really only one thing she could do. Fumbling with her keyring, she located Helena’s key and, hoping she was doing the right thing, slid it into the door’s lock, twisted, and pushed the door open, steeling herself for the upcoming immersion into Helana’s world. Something was horribly wrong, though, and she’d already rolled over the threshold before she really registered what she should have known from the first.

 

The place was empty. Totally and completely empty, with nothing but dust-free squares left behind to indicate it had ever been occupied at all. Catching her breath, suddenly filled with a jolt of panic that caused her heart to race and her palms to sweat, Barbara remained frozen just inside the doorway, eyes wide.

 

Helena was gone, and she had absolutely no way to contact her. The other woman’s comm had been left behind at the Clocktower, but Barbara had always assumed it to be a temporary thing. Even that night, even seeing Helena’s face on the security footage, hadn’t been enough to convince her that there was something different about this time, something horrifyingly permanent. This, though, was an indicator even she couldn’t dismiss.

 

Her breathing quickened, on the point of hyperventilation, as she considered the ramifications. Because of her actions, Helena was well and truly lost to her, and perhaps lost to the side of good forever. She’d driven away the one person she wanted because of her own fears and cowardice, and now it seemed quite possible that she wouldn’t ever have a chance to fix things, or to at least own up to her part in the attraction. Past that, she was faced with the daunting prospect of having to track and capture the other woman, a thought that made her instantly sick and ill at ease. Helena wasn’t built to be confined, and if Barbara did manage to catch her, if she could put aside the little voices already beckoning her to just let things slide, then the consequences of her actions would undoubtedly be Helena’s final undoing. Jail, _confinement_ , no matter how great or small the punishment, and the brunette wouldn’t last. It would break her in a way nothing else had ever been able to do. Of that, Barbara was sure.

 

“She’s gone.”

 

Barbara stiffened at the words, surprised that she’d been so caught up in her grief that she’d missed the sound of footsteps behind her. Wheeling about slowly, coming face to face with Dinah’s confused and hurt countenance, Barbara nodded her head weakly. “I know. What are you doing here?”

 

“Followed you,” Dinah muttered shortly, ducking her head and blushing at the pointed look Barbara shot her. But then, figuring there were more important things at stake than her unauthorized use of Barbara’s car, she asked the question that had been bouncing around inside the other woman’s head, doubts and insecurities rife in her tone, “What are we going to do now?”

 

Sighing, eyes fluttering closed, Barbara shrugged her shoulders in defeat, unable to come up with any words of consolation.

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“Good girl,” Harleen purred, eyes full of malevolent glee as she caressed the small, shiny briefcase with such obvious desire that Helena almost wanted to avert her eyes and give the two of them privacy.

 

Clearing her throat, rolling her eyes at the other woman’s words and wondering how she’d managed to miss that now so obvious gleam of insanity in the other woman’s eyes before, Helena asked, “So what is it anyway?”

 

Turning sharply, eyes narrowing in anger, Harleen nonetheless managed to say calmly, condescension dripping from each syllable, “That’s really not any of your business. You’re the brawn in this new partnership, sweetheart. Leave the thinking up to me. I’m far more qualified.”

 

Anger flaring at the words, Helena stepped forward then stopped, not wanting to get into a fight with the other woman and ruin things before she even really had a grasp on what was happening but unable to let the slight go without some sort of retaliation. “I won’t be your errand girl unless I know what’s going on,” she said between gritted teeth, palms clutched tightly into fists. The blonde was infuriating, sharply intelligent and dangerously ruthless, but certainly not above getting her ass thoroughly kicked.

 

Sighing, Harleen turned toward Helena, gaze patronizing. “I think we’re on to something quite mutually beneficial here, don’t you?” Harleen questioned, voice irritatingly sweet. “Don’t go and fuck it up by asking questions. I’d hate to have to kill you this early in the game.”

 

At the words, the brunette laughed, taking in Harleen’s less than imposing stature. “Kill me?” Helena echoed, brows raising in amusement, momentarily forgetting that she didn’t look like all too frightening of an opponent herself. “You and what army?”

 

The question seemed to cause abject amusement, and smiling evilly, Harleen raised one hand parallel with her shoulder, two fingers beckoning an unseen someone. “That one,” she said, grinning ruthlessly, and Helena heard the hiss of a pneumatic door opening behind her. Spinning quickly, automatically falling into a fighting stance, she looked up just in time to see one of the walls of the office slide back to reveal three very large, very mean looking guns attached to three equally and impressively mean looking figures. Despite the apparently dire nature of her predicament, Helena had to grin.

 

“Oh, that one,” she allowed, chuckling humorlessly. 

 

Laughing gaily, Harleen stepped forward so she was even with Helena. With a quick motion of her head, she gave her men the signal to leave them alone, obviously not at all concerned with being left alone and defenseless. Though, Helena had to think that if she had one small army hidden behind a wall, it was entirely likely she had another one lurking about somewhere else as well.

 

Before the brutes had even taken a step, the blonde linked her fingers with Helena’s, giving the brunette’s hand a tug. The move served to bring Helena around so that they were facing, and Harleen used her free hand to trace a line down the length of Helena’s neck, pupils expanding instantly, turning brown eyes even darker. “How about a little pleasure to mix with our business,” she husked, a sly smile sliding over her face.

 

Feeling her stomach revolt at the thought, Helena took a deliberate step back, one brow arching arrogantly. “I think not.”

 

“Ooh,” Harleen purred, once again closing the space between them and hooking her forefingers in the waistband of Helena’s leather pants. “Going to make me work for it?”

 

Wrapping her hands around the blonde’s wrists, applying a bit of meta-enhanced force and guiltily enjoying the resulting wince, Helena pulled the other woman’s hands free and took another step back, eyes narrowing in anger. “Playtime’s over, Dr. Quinzel, and I’m not interested in furthering our acquaintance.”

 

Fire flared in brown eyes for a second before it was pushed down. When Harleen spoke, her voice was crisp and businesslike. “Very well. Details on your next assignment are in there,” she said sharply, pointing to a plain manila envelope resting on the corner of her desk. “I expect results within the week.”

 

“And if I can’t work it into my schedule?” Helena asked breezily, tracing her fingers over the cool surface of the envelope, questioning her wisdom in getting involved with the whole mess to begin with.

 

A slim hand slid up her back to rest lightly on her shoulder, the touch enough to be painful had she been a normal human being. “Oh, I would suggest that you find a way to make time,” Harleen said cheerily, fingers trailing over Helena’s neck, nails none-too-gently raking across her skin.

 

Shrugging out of the other woman’s grasp, Helena made her way to the door slowly, determined not to let the other woman get the upper hand. Intimidation wasn’t going to work on her, and the sooner she let Quinzel know it, the better.

 

“See you when I see you, Doc,” she said airily, then moved easily from the room.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“FIND IT!”

 

The screech echoed throughout the office, the sound pitched high enough to shatter glass. Helena couldn’t help but wince, the noise almost enough to shatter meta-enchanced eardrums, but quickly suppressed the gesture as she walked into Quinzel’s office. Sauntering in as if unaware of the commotion surrounding her, she slid into a chair, sprawling lazily, determined to project an aura of unconcerned nonchalance. The woman she’d once regarded as her quite sane if not slightly sadistic therapist currently looked like neither, with her eyes flashing in a mix of fury and lunacy, normally well-coifed hair spiking in a multitude of different directions as if it had once been in danger of being ripped out by its roots.

 

A rather mousy looking man scurried out of the room under the force of Quinzel’s gaze, and Helena watched, amused, as the other woman straightened out her business suit, slicked down her hair, and turned to face her with a serene smile, almost as if the earlier unpleasantness had never happened at all. Making her way over to sit across from Helena, hands folded primly in her lap, Harleen tilted her head to the side, her gaze speculative as she took in the black bag resting in the brunette’s lap.

 

“Having problems?” Helena asked, smirking, thoroughly entertained by the drama she’d been witness to only moments before, and by Quinzel’s attempts to try and make it disappear.

 

Deftly plucking an errant piece of lint from her suit jacket, completing the transformation back into wholly calm and collected, Harleen replied smoothly, “None that should concern you. Have you got what I asked for?”

 

Rolling her shoulders lazily, Helena drawled, “Well, that depends. I thought you told me this partnership was going to be lucrative. Thus far, you’ve failed to deliver on your part of the bargain. I want to see some profit, Dr. Quinzel.”

 

Eyes narrowing dangerously, body tense with a nervous, distracted anticipation that almost had her vibrating in place, Harleen said sharply, “I’m not in the mood for contract negotiation, Helena. Show me the diamonds.”

 

“I don’t think so. I could play cat burglar all by myself if I wanted to,” the brunette mused, shifting so that she was sitting a little straighter in her chair, blue eyes boring into brown. “I certainly don’t need to be a part of your organization to steal diamonds.”

 

“You test my patience,” Harleen replied, her tone sing-song. “Trust me, I have very little. You don’t want to exhaust your allotment of it quite yet.”

 

Ignoring the other woman’s unveiled threat, Helena pressed on. “I think we need to work out a reimbursement plan. It’s either that, or you let me in on the big picture. I can hold back if I know my dividends are going to pay off in the end.”

 

Clucking her tongue in mock exasperation, Harleen sighed. “So greedy. And to think, all I had to do was get you out from under Barbara Gordon’s influence and you’d take care of the corruption for me.” There was a pause as she let that sink in, gratified by the brief spark of anger the comment drew. Then, as if conceding to a hard-fought point, she murmured, “Fine then, give me a routing number and I’ll transfer some cash.”

 

“Please,” Helena scoffed immediately, rolling her eyes. “Create a link between us? I think not. I’ll take my cut in twenties, unmarked if you please.”

 

“Been watching a few too many mafia movies, haven’t you?”Harleen said dryly, arching a brow. “Very well then. Give me a few days. Now, the diamonds, if you please.”

 

Tossing the bag to the other woman, Helena watched with detachment as Quinzel pulled the scattered stones free of their velvet casing. Light hit the array and dispersed, sending shards of rainbow spectrums across the interior of the room, and the blonde’s face lit up with something close to sheer joy. “So pretty,” she cooed, running a finger down the face of one particularly large specimen. Then, to Helena, “You’re far more resourceful than I had given you credit for. Is there something you haven’t told me? Did you spend time in juvie, perhaps?”

 

“Maybe you just underestimated me. It wouldn’t be the first time,” Helena said, smirking once again, a slightly sensuous edge to her tone.

 

“Indeed,” Harleen said distractedly, pouring the diamonds back into the bag. “But, now that you’ve proven yourself to be adequately competent, I might just have to change my opinion.”

 

“Just adequate?” Helena asked, stung despite herself.

 

“Hmm… we’ll see how you do on your next job, and then I’ll let you know,” Harleen teased in reply. “Instructions are over there. You’ve got another week for this one.”

 

“Sure thing… boss,” Helena said sarcastically. “I’ll expect full compensation for all the work I’ve done thus far when I return.”

 

Licking her lips seductively, eyes hooded, Harleen murmured, “You know, I could give you a down payment now.”

 

“Sorry,” Helena shot back breezily, “but I prefer hard-earned cash to an easy fuck. I like to have to actually work for the things I get.”

 

“Quite the bitch,” Harleen drawled, seemingly unruffled by Helena’s blatant put-down. “Guess I’ll just have to wait until you come back into heat.”

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Pushing a fall of wet hair back from her forehead, the strands immediately clinging with tenacious fierceness to the back of her neck and the sides of her face, Barbara swiped a hand across her eyes, flinging droplets of water in an arc that left a trail of wet, winding tracks down the glass door of her shower. Clearing even more water from her face, a neat spray coursing down her chin to slide over her torso, she watched with detachment as a cadre of water droplets meandered down her flesh. They started on her upper chest, delving inward to converge at the valley between her breasts, then flared outward once more when they hit her abdomen. Some ground to a halt in the pinkish-gray bands of scar tissue tracing a path across her lower body, the puckered skin flushed red from the heat of the water. Those that made it further descended effortlessly to the bent crease where her thighs began.

 

It was intriguing to watch the untimed race. From one moment to the next, the droplets changed from tickling, overly warm sensations to nothing, almost as if they’d dropped off of her body completely, but Barbara knew better. They were still there, running down the contours of legs that, while slim and toned from her physical therapy, lacked the musculature of her youth. Back then, her body had been a work of art, each and every line delineated cleanly, skin pulled taut over the sinewy strength of muscles developed for use and not for show.

 

She eyed the pink cast of her skin with detached interest. The water was too warm. She knew that, could feel its heat as it hit her forearms, her breasts. If she wasn’t careful, she’d burn herself, only, she’d never know it. She could, while sitting there in her hand-crafted shower seat, do irreparable damage and never even feel a smidgen of pain. She would have appreciated the irony, but there was none.

 

Idly tracing a hand down her belly, she let her fingers trace over the ridges of scar tissue there. She was long familiar with their shape, having learned the curves left by the path of the bullets that had ripped through her skin, the straight line of surgical incisions that had cut with neat precision. If she pushed against them, she could feel a dull, aching pressure. Beneath that, with the exception of a few scattered spots, the feeling faded away to nothing.

 

Hand drifting down even further, Barbara felt the tease of water-soaked curls beneath her fingertips. If she moved down even more, she could trace the outlines of her sex, find the hard nub of her clitoris. She wouldn’t be able to feel the touch, though she knew that she didn’t suffer from a complete absence of feeling. There were places deep inside her that still worked, and sometimes, if she or a lover tried hard enough, they could be found.

 

Moving further down, Barbara traced the curve of her knee, fingers dancing lightly over a childhood scar. She remembered vividly how it had been acquired, and smiled sadly at the thought. She’d been living at home and engaged in her favorite activity, back before her dad had managed to make her an orphan. Perched on the roof of their slightly shabby house with the reckless disregard for personal safety that belonged only to children and idiots, she’d imagined that she was strong and tall, that she was an avenger of good ready to swoop down on the hapless criminals who dared encroach on the people she’d sworn to protect. And swoop she did, slipping on a loose shingle, fingers and knees scraped raw by the rough roofing as she’d lost her balance, as she’d skidding down the slope of the roof to stop, balanced precariously, at the very edge.

 

Her mother had come running out of the house, drying her hands on an old, worn dishtowel, drawn by the commotion her near fall had made. She’d looked up, eyes wide, lank hair somehow shining in the afternoon sun, and Barbara had felt, quite suddenly, very loved. She was worried about, and cared for, and her mother had dropped everything, ready to rush to her rescue.

 

Then, of course, her father had to show up and ruin it all.

 

He’d stumbled out of the back door, already drunk even though it was barely afternoon, one hand shielding his eyes from the setting sun. His hair had been plastered to his forehead with a combination of oil and sweat, and Barbara knew that had she been close to him, she would have been able to smell the stale odor of liquor and unwashed flesh. His shirt was dirty and rumpled, his belt unbuckled, his chin sporting a week’s worth of scraggly growth. A nearly empty beer bottle was clutched tightly in his left hand, the TV’s remote in his right.

 

“ _Damn fool kid,_ ” he’d muttered, face screwing into a mixture of disgust and anger. “ _I ain’t paying for no fucking hospital bills. Get your scrawny, ugly ass down before you mess up the roof some more. And go fetch me another beer. Make me at least think something good came out of having you._ ”

 

All in all, it had been one of the nicer things he’d ever said to her, and at the realization, she laughed, the sound harsh and bitter.

 

Digging her nail into the now faded scar, she watched as the skin bloomed red but didn’t break. When they’d died, she’d missed her mother, but not for long. She had known, from a very early age, that she was never going to be like her, like that woman in the faded and threadbare cotton dress, the woman who never had anything because she was tied to a worthless, miserable excuse for a man who couldn’t hold down a job and drank away all his pay when he managed to find one. She wasn’t going to stand at her kitchen window, hands absently scrubbing a pan until it shined so brightly it was almost blinding, eyes staring longingly out at the open land beyond the thin pane. She wasn’t going to always want things she could never have.

 

Only, that’s exactly what she was doing. Even if the cage was different, she was still that woman. Tied to the past and to responsibility, fear erasing any desire she might have to reach for something better, she might as well be back in Kansas. She’d turned into her parents without even trying. Always yearning for more but never actually trying for it, just like her mother. Or, like her father, just a shell of a human trying to find something that made her happy. Unlike him and his blind devotion to the bottle, she had ideals and responsibilities and duties, and she hid behind them as efficiently as he had Jack Daniels and Jim Beam.

 

Drawing a finger up her thigh, poking the tip into the muscle with enough force to leave a bruise, Barbara sighed. There had been so many things she wanted to do. She told herself she couldn’t now, because accepting her limitations and forcing them on someone else were wholly different matters, but she was getting tired of the refrain. But, despite that weariness, Helena had asked for too much, for things she couldn’t give, and Barbara wasn’t about to let the other woman know just how incomplete she was. She didn’t mind letting other people know, people like Wade, who were only destined for short stints anyway. They didn’t matter, and to be honest, she really didn’t care what they thought. They were means to an end, tools to be used when she was feeling lonely. They touched her body and she pretended to feel, the charade enough to please them and to satiate her. So what if she didn’t find fulfillment with them? That didn’t matter so much anymore anyway.

 

Well, it didn’t matter with them. The thought of doing that to Helena, of acting out a farce for the other woman’s benefit, sickened her. Helena would see through her deceit where the others hadn’t, would know that she was a liar and a fraud. She would fail her, would see disappointment in once trusting blue eyes, and she would lose her. And, quite frankly, Helena was all she had left. Sure, there was Dinah, and she knew she’d come to love Dinah like a daughter, but Helena was different.

 

She loved Helena.

 

There, she’d admitted it. She loved Helena. Far from a platonic love, this was more along the lines of crazy obsession. She knew every plane of Helena’s face, every expression and hidden desire. She knew Helena’s pain, had shared it and witnessed it, had been awed by its depth and scared by her inability to abate it. She was drawn to the other woman in a way she couldn’t deny and was barely able to suppress, in a way that made her want to hide the brunette from the world, to cage her away for her own private delectation and delight.

 

She needed too much.

 

If she gave into her need, she would lose herself. Part of her was afraid of that, of sublimating herself to another. She wondered, idly, if she was like her mother in that regard, if she could so easily lose herself in the form of another. She wondered if she would cease to exist.

 

She knew she would fail her.

 

It was predestined, written in the stars. She quite simply couldn’t be what the other woman wanted, much less what she needed. The part of her that chafed under the knowledge that she would hold Helena back, that she would steal something vitally essential to her, battled fiercely with the selfish, hedonistic part that wanted Helena more than she could imagine a being could want.

 

The battle was false, though. The hedonistic side had already won.

 

Helena’s absence was eating her alive. With each passing day, another part died. She didn’t care about the things that had driven her before. She went through the motions of being Oracle, of teaching her students. She didn’t even consider trying to stop what she knew Helena was doing. She wouldn’t be responsible for putting the other woman in any cage other than one of her own making.

 

Shutting off the water with a quick flick of her wrist, Barbara sat back against the cool stone wall of her shower. If Helena didn’t come back to her soon, she thought she just might go insane.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Mark Downy knew when his life was in serious peril. He was no fool, even if he didn’t always make the best career choices. There was very little doubt left in his mind that if he didn’t safely deliver the diamonds that had been entrusted into his care, he was a dead man. His boss was quite insane, and if she hadn’t offered him an astronomical amount of money, he’d have run from her on first sight. It didn’t take him long to realize he should have run anyway, but by the time he figured it out, it was already too late. As it was, he was definitely on unstable footing, just a few inches shy of permanent retirement if he didn’t pull this off.

 

Ducking his head, moving quickly through the cold night, he made his way to the rendezvous point arranged by his contact. If everything went according to plan, and he was praying that it would, then he would meet the man who was going to fence the diamonds, would get the cash, and would be out of there with enough time to spare to drop off the briefcase and flee town. A braver, or perhaps stupider, person might have attempted to take both the diamonds and the money and run, but Mark knew better. He’d be dead within the hour if he even tried something like that. His boss was insane but omnipotent, or at least he was convinced she was.

 

Sadly, Mark was completely unaware of the figure following his progress from the rooftops above. Dressed completely in black, from the neoprene mask baring only a pair of glittering eyes, to booted feet, the figure blended in perfectly with the shadows, easily avoiding detection. Had Mark noticed something out of the corner of his eye, he undoubtedly would have written it off as a figment of his imagination. After all, a second glance would have revealed nothing.

 

Mark reached his destination a few minutes before his scheduled arrival time and, as he flicked open a butane lighter and inhaled the acrid smoke of a Marlboro Red, he wondered why it was that the shadier his business dealing, the more uncomfortable the meeting place. There was nothing quite like the docks in the middle of the winter, the freezing wind blowing roughly in from over icy water searing his very bones with its force. Shivering, hands stuffed deeply into his pockets and cigarette dangling from rapidly chapping lips, Mark never even heard the light thump of boots behind him. He didn’t feel the blow to the back of his neck, the one that easily knocked him unconscious, nor the support of strong arms that caught him before he could fall.

 

In fact, Mark didn’t feel anything until he awoke in a holding cell at the New Gotham jail, though a quick search through his inside jacket pocket did reveal the one thing he most definitely did not want to find… nothing.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Harleen Quinzel wanted to scream. Since she rarely denied herself anything, she did scream, the sound long, loud, and piercing enough to deafen anyone within a 100 yard radius.

 

Someone was once again making her very, very angry. Helena would steal something for her, and within the week, someone would steal it back. First the toxin, then the diamonds, then the tiny little Picasso original and now, finally, one of the finest collections of flawless emeralds in the world. That one had been guaranteed to net her at least five million, and its loss was more than frustrating. How was she supposed to be expected to build a crime syndicate if she couldn’t keep up a steady supply of funding? Megalomaniacal plans for city-wide anarchy needed financial backing just as much as did any other business scheme, but apparently, someone out there just didn’t understand that.

 

“Helena,” she purred, barely keeping the frustration coursing through her from infusing her voice, some sixth sense instantly alerting her the second the other woman walked into her office, “you’re such a good, _good_ girl. Show me what you’ve got for me.”

 

If there was one thing that was constant throughout the entire mess, it was her new protégé’s ability to produce results. Harleen had never worked with a more efficient burglar, and had to wonder how the other woman had slipped under her radar up until then. Surely she had to have been practicing her skills somewhere, because people just didn’t pick up the trade in a day. But, Helena never failed to bring her what she asked for, and after that first time, had yet to set off another alarm. Not that the missing items weren’t noticed and reported, but the window between their theft and the discovery that they were gone was large enough to provide ample time to smuggle the items out of the city. Well, it would have, had someone not stolen each and every one back.

 

If it happened one more time, Harleen thought she might kill someone, just for the relief of tension it offered. Of course, she’d much rather kill the pesky little vermin nibbling away at her well-constructed plan. Speaking of, she had work to do.

 

“Care to tell me why this is so important?” Helena asked lazily, holding a small computer chip up to the light. She was getting frustrated, convinced she’d been sent out on a fool’s errand and needlessly exposed to capture and discovery. She was also getting antsy. She hadn’t had contact with Barbara in a month and a half. Well, she hadn’t had physical contact with Barbara in a month and a half. She still watched her almost every night, hidden away from sight of the Clocktower by a parapet that may have blocked her from view but did little to dampen the freezing New Gotham winter winds.

 

Tsking, Harleen replied, “We’ve been over this before. You’re the retriever, I’m the boss. I say fetch and you do. But don’t worry… you’ll get your treat soon enough.”

 

Chafing under the other woman’s condescending tone but not yet quite ready to challenge her and upset the balance in the arrangement they’d worked out, especially when Quinzel was obviously under a great deal of stress, Helena settled for a muttered, “So you keep telling me, but so far the results I’m seeing aren’t worth the effort I’m expending.”

 

“Enough,” Harleen snarled, composure breaking slightly, wanting to move on to the next phase of her newest plan. “Your business here tonight is finished. Run along so I can take care of mine.”

 

“You mean you actually do work on occasion instead of always sending other people out to do everything for you?” Helena snarked, unable to help herself.

 

Ignoring her anger, Harleen instead shifted in her chair so that her legs were spread, eyes hooded and intent clear. “Either make yourself useful or leave,” she drawled. “I’ve got things to do.”

 

Helena merely laughed. Pushing herself out of her chair, she sauntered over so that she was standing directly in front of Quinzel, eyes tracing a blazing path up the other woman’s body. Then, leaning forward, gratified by the blatant arousal shining in the blonde’s eyes, she whispered, “Someone’s a little touchy tonight. Maybe you should look into some stress management therapy, Doctor.”

 

The bored threat in her tone in direct counterpoint to the fires burning in her eyes, Harleen said dispassionately, “Little children who play with fire often find themselves badly burned. You’d do well to remember that.”

 

“I’d do well to remember any number of things, Dr. Quinzel. And, you’d do well to remember that you’ve already underestimated me once. Try and see if you can avoid doing it again.”

 

As Helena sauntered out of her office, Harleen considered the fact that she had, indeed, been proven quite short-sighted when it came to her latest find.

 

“Marcus,” she said quietly, gratified when a large man separated himself from the shadows to come and stand behind her, his bulk a comforting presence, “see what you can find out about our little thief. I find I’m woefully underinformed.”

 

Marcus grinned wolfishly in reply, body already surging as he considered the prospect. There was something not completely right about Helena Kyle, and he was more than happy to undertake the task of finding out what, exactly, that something was.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Something wasn’t right. She’d followed the lackey with the computer chip to an abandoned warehouse, watched the trade, and then watched them leave the briefcase out in the open, completely unguarded, as they apparently slipped into the back to have a drink. It was almost as if they were making things easy for her, and in her experience, anything that came wrapped in a package like that shouldn’t be opened. But, the opportunity was too tempting, and she knew she wasn’t going to let them get away with whatever was on that chip, so with a resigned sigh, she separated herself from the shadows, scooting quickly across the clear warehouse floor to snatch up the briefcase.

 

She’d just popped the lid and scooped up the bag containing the chip when she heard it, the borderline insane screech with which she’d become quite familiar.

 

“BRING IT TO ME! DON’T KILL IT!”

 

Cursing, tucking the chip into the pocket of her pants, she looked around her, eyes wild, as four figures emerged from the back recesses of the warehouse. One was the slim figure of Quinzel, the other three the bulky outlines of the thugs she’d seen flit through the other woman’s office after hours. Gritting her teeth, hoping there weren’t any other surprises laying in wait for her, she took off in the direction of the door. Gunfire erupted immediately, interspersed with further screeches reminding the shooters not to kill, and she winced as she felt the bite of shattered bits of concrete ricochet into the relatively unprotected skin of her arms and her face.

 

Bounding up on top of a set of crates, using every ounce of strength she possessed, she was barely aware of the sting lancing through her side until seconds later when the pain throbbed through her with every movement, but there wasn’t any time to stop and see what had happened. Catapulting herself through a window, shattering the rotting wooden window frame and sending glass shards flying, she sailed out into the cool night air, feet hitting the pavement firmly as she began to run.

 

The sound of footsteps behind her encouraged her to seek alternate methods of escape, and so with one strong leap, she grabbed the bottom rung of a nearby fire escape, hauling herself up to the platform painfully. She could feel the thick wetness of her own blood seeping into her pants, plastering her soft cotton turtleneck to her skin, but she tried not to think about it. Instead, she raced up the fire escape to the roof then skidded to a halt just out of sight, eyes focused on the street below her. The three thugs and Quinzel appeared seconds later, each, with the exception of Quinzel, looking around frantically in an attempt to find her. The blonde didn’t seem at all panicked though, a fact which only served to make her even more nervous, and as she watched, the other woman pulled a small device from her pocket. After staring at the display for a second, the blonde looked up to the exact spot where she was crouched, superior smirk twisting her lips.

 

“It’s right there, boys,” Quinzel drawled, and Helena flinched back as a barrage of bullets bit into the brick surrounding her.

 

Pulling out the chip, turning it over in her hands, she cursed, then flung it off to the side, hoping it was the only thing allowing Quinzel to track her. Then, without thinking about the danger to herself, she shot up, sprinting across the rooftop and lunging desperately, arching out over the street below, hitting the next rooftop with a roll, one hand automatically clutching the searing tear in her side. But, she didn’t stop, just kept on running until she could no longer hear the rapport of gunfire. Then and only then did she allow herself to slow.

 

Stopping, she found quickly, was a dreadful mistake. As soon as the initial rush of adrenaline wore off, the pain in her side became almost unbearable. Ripping off a black leather glove, she touched her hand to her side, feeling faint as her fingertips shone dark red in the moonlight. She was bleeding fairly heavily, whatever wound the bullet had inflicted undoubted exacerbated by her rooftop marathon. Stumbling slightly on her feet, suddenly aware of a sensation of light-headedness, she shook herself, trying to focus on her surroundings once again. It was becoming increasingly difficult to do, however, as blood continued to pour freely from her side. So, with one last bout of strength, she headed to the one place where she knew she’d be safe. Or, at least, to the one place where she hoped she would be.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Dinah watched Barbara, much as she’d been watching her for well over a month. They’d fallen into a rut, a horribly stagnant rut, and if something didn’t change, Dinah wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to be able to take it.

 

Barbara moved through each day as if she weren’t really aware of its passing, performing her tasks with rote ease. She went to school then came home, immediately planting herself in front of the bank of computers that comprised Delphi. If Dinah didn’t bring her food, she didn’t eat, and if Dinah didn’t speak to her, she didn’t say a word. Instead she scanned the rows of information much as she always had, though now without purpose. It wasn’t as if they did anything anymore. Ever since Helena had left, they’d become observers, and Dinah was chafing under the restrictions. She was also growing increasingly angry with Barbara, something that was becoming harder and harder to contain.

 

Just the night before they’d had an argument. Well, it would have been an argument if Barbara had actually argued back, but she hadn’t. She’d simply sat there, unresponsive, calmly taking everything Dinah threw at her without defending herself. It had all started when Dinah had caught her watching the security footage once again, something that seemed like a nightly ritual, and she’d finally just let loose of some of her anger, the release not nearly as satisfying as she could have hoped.

 

“What you’re doing is wrong, you know,” the blonde had said heatedly, unable to suppress her disgust any longer. “You know she’s out there, and you’re not doing anything to stop her. That’s what we’re for, isn’t it? Fighting crime, not facilitating it. What’s she going to have to do before you get involved? Kill someone? Put someone in the hospital? I thought you had convictions, Barbara. Since when do you get to pick and choose who gets to break the law whenever they want with no consequences and who deserves to be punished?”

 

Barbara had simply sighed, a muttered, “You don’t understand,” her only reply.

 

“No, I do understand,” Dinah had shot back, frustrated. “I know you two have some kind of bond, and I know you love her and all that, but she’s not any different than anyone else. You’re just as bad as she is, covering up her tracks the way you have been. You’ve become the exact same thing she has.”

 

A hint of fire had sparked through Barbara’s eyes but she’d remained silent, and so with a groan of irritation, Dinah had stormed from the room.

 

She was preparing herself for another battle, determined to batter away at Barbara until the other woman did something about Helena. She didn’t want to have to go behind the redhead’s back to the police, some part of her still believing that eventually Barbara’s sense of right and wrong would kick into play and she would do what she had to do, but if something didn’t happen soon, it would be her only option. Sure, she liked Helena, had been growing to respect her, but the other woman had turned against everything for which she thought they stood, and Dinah wasn’t at all comfortable with that. She also wasn’t comfortable with double standards. They might operate outside of the law, but they always fought on its side. This, though, was something completely different. Helena was clearly breaking the law, and Dinah had the sinking suspicion that Barbara was tacitly helping her.

 

So, gearing up to try again, Dinah took in a deep breath and opened her mouth, only to be cut off by the mechanical beep of Delphi’s security alert. “Intruder alert… Intruder alert,” the machine spouted robotically, the words seeming to break Barbara out of her trance. As the other woman sprang into action, the movements filled with more life than Dinah had seen in weeks, the blonde came up to stand behind her, peeking over her shoulder, glad that at last, something was happening.

 

The quick click of keys soon resulted in a large image of the intruder, whose position had quickly been isolated. The figure was dressed from head to toe in black, its slim form leaning heavily against the back wall of the elevator, and Barbara felt her heart-rate quicken. She was almost positive she recognized the slim frame, and with little regard to her safety, rolled quickly across the floor until she was directly in front of the elevator doors, waiting impatiently for them to open. Though it seemed to take forever, they finally did, and as the chrome slid open soundlessly, the intruder stumbled out, shoulder bumping painfully against the still retracting door before falling in a heap on the floor at Barbara’s feet.

 

Blue eyes looked up at the redhead from the concealing black mask, pleading and weak. “Barbara,” a hauntingly familiar voice whispered before an exhausted Huntress lapsed into unconsciousness, and Barbara gestured frantically for Dinah.

 

“You’ve got to help me,” Barbara said, her voice panicked. Something was terribly wrong, but she wasn’t in any position to know what it was. Cursing her inability to kneel down on the floor alongside the figure, to check that well-known form for injuries and rip away the mask she knew was hiding features she’d longed to see again in person for well over a month, Barbara satisfied herself with doing a visual inspection, not at all comforted by the trickle of dark red blood she could see spilling out onto her floor.

 

Dinah crossed the room quickly, spurred on by the near hysteria in the other woman’s voice. Taking in the figure slumped awkwardly on the floor she sighed, instinctively certain that it was Helena. Knowing that they needed to get her up and somehow aware of a need to be gentle, Dinah focused her thoughts as best she could around the turmoil swirling through her brain. With baited breath, Barbara watched as Helena’s form levitated a few feet above the ground, intensely relieved Dinah had decided to put aside her ire long enough to help and hoping that for once the blonde would be able to sustain enough concentration to actually do what she intended to do.

 

“My bedroom,” Barbara rasped, rolling ahead to open doors. Dinah followed her slowly, droplets of blood marking the path of Helena’s limp form as it traveled through the Clocktower and into Barbara’s room. By the time she finally managed to dump Helena’s body in the other woman’s bed, she was exhausted. Slumping to the floor, completely drained, she watched as Barbara ripped off Helena’s mask, as her fingers traced a gentle path down her cheek before she turned wide, scared eyes Dinah’s way.

 

“Go get the emergency first aid kit. I’m going to need towels and alcohol. Hurry… please,” Barbara pleaded, already easing Helena’s shirt out of the way to reveal the jagged tear running along her ribcage. The bullet had just grazed her, but Barbara knew instinctively that Helena had caused herself a lot more damage trying to evade whoever it was who was shooting at her. Mopping awkwardly at the sluggishly bleeding wound with her bedsheets, Barbara felt herself start to calm somewhat. She didn’t know if Helena was going to make it, though she had to have faith that she was. What she did know, however, was that the other woman was finally home, and if Barbara had her way, this time it would be for good.

 

Dinah returned seconds later, the requested items in hand. Barbara barely seemed to register her presence as she used safety scissors to cut away Helena’s shirt, and used gauze soaked in alcohol to wash away the rapidly drying blood surrounding the wound and then gauze soaked in iodine to disinfect it. Helena moaned at the touch, and Barbara looked up, terrified that the other woman had returned to consciousness just in time for the more excruciating part of the evening, but her eyes were still closed.

 

With deft movements perfected over a lifetime of tending to her own wounds, Barbara threaded a needle then laid it to the side. After rinsing Helena’s wound repeatedly, the pinkish stain on her once pristine white sheets spreading further with each pass, Barbara began to stitch the jagged flesh together. She moved quickly but carefully, closing up the nearly six inch long gash in a matter of minutes, leaving a row of tiny, neat stitches in her wake. When that was finished, she slathered the wound with antiseptic cream and wrapped it with a compression bandage, bisecting Helena’s firm, tanned abdomen with a strip of nearly blinding white. That done, she made yet another foray into the first aid kit, extracting a small syringe and a vial of clear liquid. Piercing the foil covering with the slim needle, Barbara carefully drew back the plunger, experienced eyes watching intently as suction drew the liquid up the tube. A few quick flicks to break apart any air bubbles, a small push to seal the syringe, and she turned the needle in Helena’s direction. After injecting the strong antibiotic, wincing slightly as she penetrated pale flesh despite the knowledge that Helena couldn’t feel it, Barbara collapsed back into her chair, exhausted.

 

“We’ve got to take her to the police.”

 

Until Dinah spoke, Barbara had completely forgotten that she was still there. The words jolted her back into the present, however, and she became aware of the blonde standing beside her, a scowl on her face as she looked down at Helena’s sweat-drenched form.

 

“No, we don’t,” Barbara said crisply. “We don’t know what’s going on, and until she wakes up and tells us, I’m not going to do a thing.”

 

“You’ve already got your proof,” Dinah said wearily. “You watch the tape every night. Quit deluding yourself, Barbara. Helena’s obviously changed.”

 

Deciding to ignore the teen, Barbara merely said, “I’m going to change the sheets. Are you going to help me or not?”

 

Sighing, Dinah acquiesced, well aware that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with Barbara. Later, when the sheets were changed and Helena was nestled in under a mountain of covers, her clothes exchanged for bare skin, the blonde left the two of them alone together, once more feeling distinctly like an unwanted outsider.

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Helena smiled happily across the table at Barbara, awed by how beautiful the older woman looked bathed in candlelight. When she’d been asked what she wanted for her 22nd birthday, she’d said a night out on the town. Watching with amusement as Barbara shrank back into her chair, as she apparently resigned herself to no longer spending Helena’s birthday with the girl in question, the brunette had almost laughed. Barbara had looked downright crestfallen, and it wasn’t until Helena shyly corrected her, when she let Barbara know a night out on the town meant the two of them dressing up in their finest and dining out somewhere outrageously expensive, that the other woman smiled again. It was a crooked, happy little smile, one that had never failed to melt Helena’s heart, and she remembered how excited she’d been, certain that she was finally going to be able to get what she’d always wanted.

 

The night had been wildly romantic, at least in Helena’s opinion, and as they lingered over dessert, each sipping on a glass of glittering gold champagne, she leaned forward, eyes focused on the nervous bite of even white teeth into a lush bottom lip.

 

“Helena,” Barbara whispered, eyes beckoning her. “Helena… Helena, please… please wake up.”

 

Startled out of her dream world by the words, Helena sat up with a gasp, immediately regretting the sudden movement as pain radiated out from her side to encompass her entire body. Falling back into soft bedding with a groan, she slowly became aware of her surroundings. There was a comforting hand pressed to her forehead, a soothing voice in her ear, and as she rolled to the side, falling into an ocean of soft green, she wondered if she was still dreaming or if, in fact, she’d actually managed to make it to heaven.

 

Reaching out, desperate to touch Barbara, to reassure herself that the other woman was indeed there, she came to the conclusion that she certainly hadn’t stumbled her way into an afterlife paradise, because she was fairly certain they didn’t come equipped with mind-numbing pain. But, pushing that aside, she persevered until her fingers brushed lightly against the other woman’s cheek, taking in the worry darkening once verdant green eyes.

 

“Is it really you?” Helena whispered, still not convinced it all wasn’t an illusion. She remembered running, and being shot, and thinking that she just had to make it to the Clocktower and then everything would be alright, but she didn’t know how she’d ended up in what she was fairly certain was Barbara’s bed, nor did she know how long she’d been there.

 

“It’s really me,” Barbara said softly in reply, catching Helena’s fingers and brushing a kiss across their tips. “You’ve been hurt. You need to lay still.”

 

“Barbara,” Helena rasped, ignoring Barbara’s instructions in favor of pushing up on her elbow in search of a better view of the other woman’s face, needing to speak more than she needed to rest, “God, I’ve missed you. I’m so sorry about what I did before, what I said.”

 

The words were laced with pain and despondence, each syllable tearing into Barbara’s flesh with the sting of a knife’s blade. Unable to help herself, the redhead hoisted herself up from her position, uncurling her upper body from the protective hold she’d had on Helena’s form, to ghost a kiss across a sweat-soaked forehead. “I love you so much,” she breathed, the words making their way out of her mouth unbidden, much as were the tears streaking down her face.

 

The figure beneath her stilled suddenly before, with a startled gasp and an awkward, jerky motion, Helena caught her gaze, blue eyes shimmering with suspicious brightness in the darkened room. “Barbara?” Helena asked, tone guarded, heart surging in her chest even as she prepared herself for another rejection. The softly spoken name carried with it so much hope, pain, longing and desire that it made Barbara want to cry. Everything Helena wanted to know was wrapped up in that one word and the gleam of her eyes, and the redhead thought for a moment that it was all simply going to be too much for her to handle. Overwhelming, really, when she thought about the power she could wield with a simple response. The power to set them on a new course of action, to bring their worlds together in a way that left no room for retreat. If she answered the silent plea being directed her way, her whole existence would change inexorably.

 

Eyes dropping to the side awkwardly, Barbara felt her resolve faltering in the face of such enthusiasm. But, doubts and insecurities still running rampant, she nonetheless managed to nod shallowly. “Yes.”

 

Simple yet elegant, the word was the only affirmation the other woman needed.

 

Blood rushing at the softly said yet still quite resolute reply, Helena leaned forward for a kiss, ignoring the scream of agony erupting from her side and losing herself in the taste and feel of the other woman. She was giddy, nearly euphoric, and wished desperately that the moment would never end. It had to, of course, because the strain of the position on her stitches soon had her pressing back into the mattress, eyes clenched tightly shut in the face of another bolt of pain, rain-soft kisses from Barbara’s lips brushing her chin, her cheeks, and the corner of her mouth, easing the hurt away.

 

“I need to tell you what I’ve done,” she said when the pain finally edged away, only to be shushed. Guilt was rushing through her full force, the ache of holding it in almost more painful than her pulled stitches.

 

“I don’t want to know,” Barbara said immediately, voice rough, eyes pleading. She didn’t want to have to deal with Helena’s actions of the past month and a half, didn’t want to have to face her own complicity. She wasn’t going to fall into the same trap as her mentor had. In fact, she’d had more than enough time to contemplate the strikingly linear progression of her relationship with Helena to his relationship with Selena. Bruce had lost Helena’s mother because he hadn’t been able to reconcile his calling with her nature, and because of that, he’d thrown it all away. In return, he’d gotten nothing but a lifetime of pain in the form of separation from his only child and the death of the only woman he’d ever really loved. In the end, it had all been too much for him, and Barbara wasn’t about to run from her life the way he’d ran from his. At least, not any longer. She wasn’t going to make the same mistakes with Helena, and her conscience be damned. If she had to loosen her grip on certain ideals to keep the brunette in her life, indeed, to keep someone in her life who made it worth living, then so be it.

 

Shaking her head angrily, unaware of Barbara’s selfish motivations, Helena said strongly, “No, you need to know. Quinzel… she’s got something going on, something big. I thought that maybe if I worked my way in close to her, I’d find out what it was and bring her down and when I did… when I did, you’d know. You’d know I deserve to be your equal.”

 

The words were said with intense fervor and she understood instantly, the other woman’s motivations crystallizing in her mind. She felt immediate shame for causing such self-doubt, such painful insecurity. “Helena,” she whispered sadly, bereft, tears burning in her eyes.

 

“I stole things,” Helena said quickly, her words choppy as she cut the other woman off, determined to lay all of her sins on the table before the reconciliation went any further. “I didn’t hurt anyone, but I stole things. I’ve got them all. All but the computer chip. I threw it away. She was tracking me with it. We’ll give them back when this is all over. I didn’t… didn’t do this for the money or the thrill. You’ve got to understand that. I didn’t cross the line, Barbara. I swear I didn’t.”

 

Sighing, pushing back the sweaty, wet strands of hair clinging to the brunette’s forehead, Barbara took a minute to formulate her next words. She didn’t want any ambiguity to be left, anything that would let Helena assume. “You’ve always been my equal,” she said, green eyes haunted, serious. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

 

Coughing lightly, feeling herself skirt perilously close to the edge of unconsciousness yet again, still weak from the loss of blood, but not wanting to leave the moment, Helena struggled to remain coherent. “No, I haven’t,” she said on a soft sigh. “But, it’s true now. Don’t you see, Barbara? You’ve got to know you can believe in me. I won’t let you down. You don’t need anyone else, I promise. You’ve just got to give me a chance. I _earned_ a chance.”

 

“You…” Barbara started to say, but fell silent as Helena’s lids fluttered shut once more, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep as the drugs and the shock still coursing through her system took over. Watching the other woman’s features settle out into calm lines, pain erasing its etchings from the once tense outlines of her face and the stiff set of her shoulders, Barbara resigned herself to a lifetime of never being able to do anything but love Helena. She’d fought it, had been willfully blind to its presence in her life, had denied it to the point of driving the other woman away, but she couldn’t do it any longer. Her mind told her that the day would arrive when she wouldn’t be enough, and when that day came, she didn’t know what she would do. Until then, though, she was going to let this happen and enjoy every single second of it.

 

When Helena awoke again she was alone, the cold surface of the sheets by her side attesting to the fact that she’d been that way for quite some time. Rolling to her feet, biting back a groan of pain at the move but otherwise fairly happy with the marked increase in mobility she was enjoying, Helena pushed herself off the bed and to her feet. A quick rummage through Barbara’s chest of drawers produced a pair of soft gray cotton pajama pants and a plain white vee-necked tee-shirt. Slipping awkwardly into the clothes, Helena made her way out of Barbara’s bedroom toward the main floor of the Clocktower, somehow sure that was where she’d find the other woman.

 

The clack of computer keys proved her correct. As she moved slowly toward Barbara’s chair, the other woman caught sight of her reflection in one of the many monitors. Whirling, a frown pulling at her face, Barbara scolded, “You’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

 

Shrugging her shoulders, wincing slightly as the move pulled at her stitches, Helena ambled up the platform so that she was standing beside Barbara, hip propped against the metal edge of the redhead’s desk. “It’s no fun without you there too,” she said hoarsely, grinning lasciviously, delighted to once again be back in the place she belonged.

 

Barbara blushed deeply. She might have decided that she was going to let this happen, was going to break down the walls separating Helena and herself, but that didn’t mean that she was ready for double entendres and sly grins. So, doing her best to ignore the heat she could see in the other woman’s gaze, she fought valiantly to retain her normal tone as she said, “You have to be hungry. What do you want to eat?”

 

Suddenly aware of a fierce hunger, Helena said, “Whatever you can manage to cook, unless Alfred is around. If he’s here, then I want fried chicken.”

 

Somewhat affronted, Barbara protested, “I can make fried chicken.”

 

Rolling her eyes, thinking back to some of Barbara’s more fiery culinary adventures, Helena muttered, “No, you can burn chicken. I’m too sore to operate the fire extinguisher.”

 

Soft fingers stole under the hem of her shirt at the words, and Helena sucked in a deep breath, abdomen suddenly more sensitive than she’d ever noticed it being. “I need to change your bandages,” Barbara said worriedly, brows furrowing in concern as the words brought her focus back to Helena’s wound. “I don’t want you to get an infection.”

 

Smiling weakly, Helena said hopefully, “Is that something we can do in here, because I’m not so sure I can make it all the way back to your room right now.”

 

“Does it hurt that badly?” Barbara asked, eyes and voice laden with worry.

 

“Nope,” the brunette joked feebly, “but ever since you touched me, my knees have been too weak for me to even think about moving.”

 

“Helena,” Barbara reprimanded, voice a mixture of relief and self-conscious embarrassment, “this is serious.”

 

“I know,” Helena said on a sigh, resigned to stowing away the innuendo for another time. “And I’m sorry. It’s just that ever since you said that you… you know, that you love me…”

 

She trailed off, suddenly blushing. “I guess I just can’t believe it’s true. That you really mean it, and didn’t just say it because I almost died on you.”

 

Green eyes made soft by a touch of aching vulnerability looked up, revealing to Helena a wave of emotion that the brunette instinctively knew had to be close to overwhelming for the normally taciturn Barbara to allow it to even make an appearance.

 

Voice steady though Helena could feel the faint tremor in the fingers still resting lightly against her side, Barbara murmured self-consciously, “I mean it. I love you, and I want to be with you.”

 

Barbara felt her heart nearly race out of control as she said it, the words painfully hard to say in the calm light of day. This time, Helena wasn’t possibly dying and she didn’t have anything left of the adrenalin high that had helped the words tumble free of her lips earlier. Now she was saying it because it was true, and because she knew just how desperately Helena needed to hear it. Which didn’t mean that she still wasn’t terrified, because she was. Terrified of what changes the words would bring, terrified of the new turn her life was about to take. Terrified in general, actually, and quite sure the feeling would be with her for quite some time.

 

Tentative smile teasing at her lips, Helena said softly, “I love you, too.”

 

Barbara shifted uneasily in her chair, not sure she was able to stand up to the emotional weight of the moment. Part of her wished she could flee, could run and hide in some safe little hole where she didn’t feel vulnerable or scared. She needed some distance, needed some time to process the swirl of emotions she could see tearing through dark blue eyes. So, drawing her fingers back and severing their physical connection, Barbara said shakily, “Dinah’s still quite mad at you. I explained what you were doing, but I’m not sure she’s ready to forgive you yet.”

 

Fighting back the urge to growl out her frustration at the other woman’s retreat, Helena muttered, “I don’t care about Dinah. Right now, I care about you. Do _you_ forgive me, Barbara?”

 

The redhead hesitated for a moment, mind flitting back over the seemingly endless weeks she’d spent agonizing over what to do about what she knew, blaming herself for what was going on, and cursing her own inability to stop it. Did any of that matter?

 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said haltingly, eyes hooded and hidden from the other woman’s view.

 

“Don’t take the easy way out,” Helena said sharply, pushing herself up off the desk, face impassive. Lowering slowly, bringing herself eye to eye with Barbara, the brunette said again, “Do you forgive me?”

 

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, Barbara replied, “I do forgive you, Helena. I know why you felt you needed to do what you did, and I understand. Do you forgive me?”

 

It was, in her mind, the more important question. Helena had done what she’d done as a reaction to Barbara’s actions, as a way to prove her worth. She’d done what she’d done because she’d felt it was the only way to show the other woman that she was worthy, that she was an equal partner. Her methods might not have been completely right, but the motivation had come from someplace pure. Barbara, on the other hand, had been acting from nothing more than a selfish desire to protect herself when she’d driven Helena away, when she’d twisted the knife in even further despite the knowledge of the other woman’s feelings. If anyone needed to be forgiven, it was her.

 

Helena’s jaw clenched, eyes closing for a long moment as she thought back to the last time she’d seen Barbara, the last words the other woman had said to her. She couldn’t shake that hurt, couldn’t erase the vicious scene from her memory. But, opening her eyes to see the uncertainty and guilt written clearly across Barbara’s face, she tried to let it all go. And, what wouldn’t go she consciously ignored, the other woman’s declaration of love far more potent than any of her words of hate. So, smiling softly, she murmured a simple yet far from uncomplicated, “Yes.”

 

A wave of relief rushed over Barbara. She felt the tightness of fear that had been constricting her chest loosen, and breathed deeply, the gesture cleansing. But then she felt the band tighten again, more restrictive this time, eyes filling with worry, “Quinzel is going to wonder where you are. If she figures out what you’ve been doing, she’ll try to kill you. Besides, it’s not like you can keep working for her. Not after this,” Barbara finished fiercely, one hand gesturing toward Helena’s side.

 

Slumping back against the desk, mind spinning slightly at the whiplash turn the conversation had taken, she mumbled, “I don’t know, Barbara. I can’t just disappear. She knows who I am, and she knows who you are. I can’t see her being too happy with me if I march in and say I’m giving it all up for the domestic life.”

 

Trying to ignore the little flutter that went through her at those words, not sure whether it was panic or anticipation, Barbara tried to keep the strain out of her voice as she said, “We’ll think of something. I am not going to risk losing you again.” The last words were said with a ferocious determination that lit a slow burning fire in Helena’s belly. She felt incredibly safe, in that moment, with the force of Barbara’s fury supporting her. She also felt the first brush of intense arousal, the heated look in Barbara’s eyes touching something primal deep within her.

 

Fighting to suppress the grin that was threatening to take over her face, Helena said thoughtfully, “We can’t let this go just yet, Barbara. There’s something more here. The woman is… I don’t know. She’s crazy. I mean for real crazy, like certifiably insane. She’s planning something. I can feel it.”

 

Working to keep her voice calm, Barbara replied, “And last night she tried to kill you.”

 

“She didn’t know it was me,” Helena pointed out.

 

Jaw clenched, Barbara said, “That doesn’t really matter. You can’t continue to steal things for her and then just steal them back. I think it’s pretty clear that plan isn’t going to work any longer.”

 

“I can’t just walk away from this,” Helena said, a hint of desperation in her tone. She had done this, had ferreted out this particular criminal, and she wasn’t going to let go without a fight. She’d come so far, had done so much. No, she was going to take Quinzel down.

 

Sensing the frustration, Barbara sat back in her chair, eyes fluttering closed. She was at an impasse, torn between her need to do what was right, her need to support what Helena felt she needed to do, and her need to keep the other woman safe forever. She couldn’t send her back in to deal with Quinzel, not knowing the other woman had no qualms when it came to killing, and not with them at the disadvantage. Helena was far too important to risk over a simple op, she thought, the notion almost enough to make her laugh at her own self-delusion. She’d risked Helena’s life before, had risked her own life. Only now she wasn’t thinking like a crime-fighter. She was thinking like a woman… she paused here, hesitant to admit it. She was thinking like a woman in love.

 

When she opened her eyes again, Helena was looking at her with determination. So, leaning forward and twining the other woman’s fingers with her own, she said softly, “Give me time to think. I’ll figure this out.”

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“So, Barbara tells me you’re not happy with me,” Helena said nonchalantly, sliding past the opened balcony door to come stand beside Dinah’s stiff form, eyes looking out at the New Gotham skyline. Genetics had ensured her recovery time to be much less than a normal person’s, and even though it was just a few days after the shooting, she was feeling pretty much as good as new. With her body nearly fully mended, it was time to start working on the other aspects of her life.

 

Dinah remained resolutely silent, clinging firmly onto her anger. She wasn’t ready to forgive and forget yet, not after what she’d seen Barbara go through and not after what she’d seen Helena do. She might have had a good excuse for her actions, but that didn’t erase the fact that she’d hidden her intent from them, letting them both think she was a criminal. It also didn’t excuse the fact that she’d left them out in the cold in regards to her plans, pretending as if she didn’t even need them.

 

“Well, you can be unhappy with me for as long as you want, but I’m going to need your help so see if you can manage to get over it enough to work with me,” Helena sighed, taking in the stiff set of the other girl’s jaw, the unforgiving glint in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with Quinzel, but I won’t be able to do anything about her if I’m worried about Barbara all the time. I need you to protect her for me.”

 

That finally broke through Dinah’s shell, and she turned, eyes blazing with anger. “Barbara can protect herself,” she hissed, arms crossed firmly over her chest. “If you were really worried about her, you wouldn’t have abandoned her before.”

 

Voice sharp despite her resolve to stay calm, Helena shot back, “You can judge me all you want, but you don’t know what was going on. I couldn’t stay here. I just couldn’t.”

 

Helena watched the shift and play of emotions across the other girl’s face as Dinah fought her way through anger and hate, landing hard at despair. “Don’t you know what you did?” she asked brokenly, her ire suddenly gone, leaving defeat in its place. “She sat there and watched that security footage of you every night. She knew what you were doing, and she didn’t do anything about it. Not one single thing. She didn’t try to stop you, didn’t tell the police it was you. In fact, I’m almost certain she covered up for you. You turned her into the very thing she hates.”

 

Masking her surprise at the revelation, Helena took a step back, arms crossed defensively over her chest. “Everything can’t be black and white, Dinah. There’s no invisible line with evil on one side and good on the other.”

 

“That’s bullshit, Helena,” Dinah muttered bitterly, head dropping down, eyes focused without seeing on the stone beneath her feet. “She broke every single one of her rules because she loved you, and she couldn’t turn on you the way she thought you’d turned on her.”

 

“So what?” Helena asked, exasperated. “What are you really mad at me for? Are you mad because you think I deserted Barbara? Because I stole some things? Or, is it because you found out that everyone’s human? That everyone has a weakness, and that anyone can do something you think is wrong, no matter how high a pedestal you put them on? I’m not a saint, and Barbara’s not either. And, I’ve got news for you kid… one day, you’re going to find out that you’re not one yourself. We’re just people, and sometimes we make mistakes. If you expect everyone to be perfect, you’re going to spend the rest of your life disappointed.”

 

“I guess I’m supposed to stop expecting things of people then, is that it?” Dinah asked sarcastically, pale green eyes shuttered, face devoid of all emotion.

 

Sighing, running a hand through her hair, Helena shrugged her shoulders. “No. Don’t stop expecting things, just realize that not everyone can be who you want them to be. Either you’ve got to learn to accept the people you love for who they are, or you’re just going to have to get used to living without them.”

 

“I don’t want to have to compromise,” Dinah said sullenly, a frown pulling at her features.

 

“So don’t. It’s your choice,” Helena said ambivalently. She couldn’t dictate morals or beliefs, and certainly wasn’t in any mood to try. Dinah would either come around or she wouldn’t, and until she made her decision, Helena would simply stay out of the way. Unless she hurt Barbara, at which point it would become an entirely different ballgame.

 

Sighing, posture deflating slightly, her words echoing those she’d spoken less than two months before, Dinah asked wearily, “What are we going to do now?”

 

Looking off blindly into the distance, Helena shook her head. “I don’t know, kid."

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Barbara was propped up in bed reading when Helena inched into her room, not yet certain whether or not she was wanted. They’d slept together the previous past few nights, bodies curled around one another, but she hadn’t been sufficiently healed then and there’d really been little possibility for anything more. They’d shared a few soft kisses, had wound their bodies around one another, but Helena hadn’t pushed for more and Barbara had been scrupulously circumspect. Now that her wound was little more than an annoyance, not something which would hinder her movements or call for delicate treatment, Helena knew she wasn’t going to be able to content herself with languid kisses and cuddling. Now the possibility for something more loomed large, and Helena didn’t know how to handle it.

 

“Uh, can I come in?”

 

Barbara looked up, one brow arching in amusement at the absurdity of the question. Helena was standing only a few feet away from the foot of her bed wearing little more than a miniscule tank top and a pair of tiny pink cotton panties, obviously already in her room, but Barbara didn’t point out that little fact. Instead, she laid her book down on the bedside table and pulled back the covers, slipping her glasses off as Helena slid uneasily into place beside her. Barely holding back a smirk of amusement, Barbara watched Helena as the brunette went stiff as a board as soon as she was horizontal, breathing hitching momentarily before settling into an unusually fast rhythm.

 

“Comfortable?” she asked sarcastically, tilting her torso so that she was on her side facing Helena, taking in the rigid set of the other woman’s profile. Apparently there was something rather fascinating on her ceiling, because the brunette’s eyes were glued to it in intense study.

 

Letting out a long sigh of frustration, Helena looked everywhere but at Barbara. “I don’t know what you want,” she admitted finally, voice tight with tension. She didn’t want to rush things, didn’t want to find herself sprawled out on the floor on the receiving end of a rejection once again, but was also intensely aware of a desire to finally act on the fantasies she’d been concocting for nearly a third of her life.

 

“What do _you_ want?” Barbara asked casually, though the increased rate of her heartbeat gave away her apprehension over the other woman’s answer.

 

Helena finally turned to face Barbara at the question, voice and eyes starkly, painfully honest as she said, “You. I want you, Barbara.”

 

She looked so earnest, suddenly so impossibly young, that Barbara felt her heart melt. All of a sudden, her resistance seemed like such a waste.

 

“Then,” Barbara murmured, voice loose with a release of nervous tension, “we both want the same thing.”

 

At that, Helena smirked, nerves finally settling into something at least a few steps down from tightly drawn. “You want you too?” she asked, chuckling low in her throat as Barbara rolled her eyes.

 

“You know what I meant,” Barbara growled playfully, the intimacy in her tone sending shivers down Helena’s spine. Conversely, ironically, it also brought with it a return of the nausea-inducing nervous tension. Now that she was finally within reach of what she wanted, the brunette wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. No, that wasn’t it. She knew she was more than ready for it, but that didn’t mean she was prepared. It seemed, suddenly, that she should have devised a game plan for this moment, a more coherent scheme of attack. Instead she was left with nothing but her own out of control desire and an overwhelming fear that she would fail her soon-to-be lover.

 

“I’m nervous,” Helena blurted, horrified even as she heard the words cross her lips. She wasn’t supposed to be nervous, and she sure as hell wasn’t supposed to admit it. She was supposed to be calm, confident, and unbearably seductive, not trembling in fear like a virgin after the Homecoming dance. Only, she wasn’t any of those things, and the sheer import of the moment hit her like a ton of bricks. She was about to make love to Barbara, a woman she’d loved for so long she couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t been so, a woman she’d spent the better part of seven years trying to impress. A woman whose approval of her meant everything.

 

Despite her reluctance to do so, overly conscious of the near terror in usually confident blue eyes, Barbara murmured, “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Helena.”

 

“No!” the brunette exclaimed immediately, aghast, horrified that her hesitance had ruined things. “I mean, I’m not _that_ nervous.”

 

There was a short silence, and then, voice painted heavily with profound relief, Barbara muttered, “Thank God.”

 

A shocked snort of laughter bubbled past Helena’s lips as she rolled over fully so that her side was touching Barbara’s, eyes twinkling and dimples deeply evident. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

 

Shrugging innocently, Barbara smiled. “Well, it’s the truth.” And, it was. She’d been without what she truly wanted for far too long, mostly because of her own obstinacy, and was more than ready to remedy the situation. If some part of her was terrified as well, she tried valiantly to ignore it.

 

Inching even closer to the older woman, their heads now on the same pillow, Helena reached out to trace her fingers down the length of Barbara’s arm, her touch ghosting pale skin with light grace. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want you,” she admitted, eyes downcast at the revelation, mood swinging from teasing to serious in seconds.

 

“How about when you were fifteen, and cursing me because you’d just failed a pop quiz,” Barbara offered, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of Helena’s fingertips against her flesh. She was nervous yet excited, the two emotions entwining around one another, setting her nerves on edge, making each touch electric. She was hyperaware of the heat of Helena beside her, of the slight rake of short nails against her skin, of the moist warmth of the other woman’s breath. It was surreal in a way, the notion that Helena was in her bed. That Helena was touching her. That she would soon be touching Helena.

 

Smirking, shaking her head, eyes glued to the path of her meandering fingers, Helena muttered, “Nope. I might have been mad at you, but I still thought you were hot.”

 

“Hot?” Barbara questioned lightly, tone full of amusement. “I may be many things, but I don’t think hot is one of them.”

 

“Oh, I totally disagree,” Helena breathed absently, lowering her head to nip at the skin bared by Barbara’s tank, her lips brushing against hard muscle encased in silk. “And I’m certainly not, nor was I, the only one. The boys in class used to talk about you all the time, about how much they’d like to get held after class. It used to make me so mad, that they’d talk about you like that. I beat one of them up one time.”

 

“Frank Howard?” Barbara asked, voice catching in her throat as sharp teeth slid across her collarbone and raked against the hollow of her throat. She was quickly losing focus, unable to concentrate on the conversation with anything more than passing awareness. The light caresses were short-circuiting her nervous system, shooting through her body with the intensity of a blow.

 

“That’s the one,” Helena hummed, her voice muffled, one hand sneaking beneath the loose hem of Barbara’s tank top to tease over the flesh of her belly.

 

Taking in a quick breath, muscles in her abdomen quivering under the light, seductive touch, Barbara breathed, “You got suspended for that.”

 

“It was worth it,” Helena murmured, trailing her lips up the length of Barbara’s neck until she was poised beside the shell of the other woman’s ear. Then, with a whisper, she added, “Besides, I think I may have opened up some doors for Frank. I saw him out one night when I was on a sweep, trailing along after some huge, hulking leatherdaddy.”

 

Unable to help herself, Barbara laughed, her head falling to the side, the move placing their faces only inches apart. “You’re lying,” she accused gently, eyes crinkling in amusement at the thought. The rapport between them was comforting, making her think that somehow, even after they gave way to the inevitable physical joining, their relationship would survive intact. They’d still be friends, still be able to talk to one another about anything and everything.

 

“Nope,” Helena replied, grinning widely. Then, voice suddenly serious again, she asked gravely, “Barbara, do you remember the night of my 22nd birthday?”

 

“You mean the night we spent an obscene amount of money at that hopelessly trendy restaurant you dragged me to?” Barbara asked, quirking a brow in confusion, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

 

Nodding shallowly, blue eyes focused with searing intensity on the lush planes of the redhead’s lips, Helena rasped, “That’s the one. You were so beautiful, and I was just a little bit drunk, and I wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt. And I tried, but I was afraid and I pulled back.”

 

“And kissed my cheek,” Barbara said softly, finishing off the story. “I remember. I thought you were really going to do it. Actually, I was terrified that you would, and that when you did I wouldn’t be able to not kiss you back.”

 

Inching closer until Barbara was the only thing she could see, the only thing she wanted to see, Helena asked hesitantly, “Why were you terrified?”

 

Laughing self-consciously, eyelids fluttering closed for a moment in an attempt to avoid the probing intensity of luminous blue-gray eyes, Barbara muttered, “Because I wasn’t ready then.”

 

Heart racing, Helena leaned forward even more, so close her breath seared the sensitive curve of Barbara’s lips and brushed past the line of her chin. “Are you ready now?” she asked hoarsely, excitement coursing through her veins.

 

Eyes opening slowly, impossibly soft in the room’s filtered light, Barbara nodded, unable to speak. There was so much she wanted to say, but it didn’t seem like the right time, and she wasn’t sure she had the words. She wanted to apologize, to say whatever she needed to say to excuse her actions of the weeks and months prior to that moment, wanted to tell Helena that she was sorry that she hadn’t known what to do to fix things between them. Except, she had known what to do, so telling her anything to the contrary would have been yet another lie to add to the pile she had already collected. In fact, she’d watched with full knowledge and awareness, with the dispassionate detachment of staunch self-preservation, the consequences of her choices. In a quest to protect herself, she’d done so much damage that it was faintly wondrous to her that Helena seemed prepared to readily forgive and forget, to move on as if Barbara hadn’t taken her heart and her painfully honest offerings and tossed them to the side like so much trash.

 

But then, Helena’s lips were on hers, achingly soft, and she didn’t want to think about anything other than the moment. A lithe body was sliding atop her own, the fulfilling weight pressing her deeply into the bedding, entrapping her in a gilded cage of silky skin and the rustle of soft fabric. Impossibly gentle fingers had traced a path up her cheeks to bury in her hair, holding her in place, though for once Barbara didn’t chafe under the restrictive hold of a lover. It seemed right, somehow, for Helena to imprison her like that, for the other woman to keep her still and calm, though not complacent.

 

There could be no complacency in their kiss, one that had quickly turned heated. Helena’s tongue was in her mouth, exploring with the intent to conquer. Nails were flexing rhythmically into her scalp, hard nipples were scraping against her own, and the other woman’s scent surrounded her like a blanket, ensnaring her in a world where there was nothing but Helena.

 

“I need to see you,” Helena rasped, pulling back, her neck straining to fight the tight pull of Barbara’s hands, trying to bring her back even as she left.

 

At the words, the redhead paused, doubts and insecurities once again rushing to the fore. Each and every imperfection ran before her mind’s eye in the span of a second, and she frowned, self-condemnation eating away at the roots of her confidence.

 

“It’s not a pretty sight,” Barbara said weakly, breathlessly, a touch of self-deprecation in her words. Untangling one hand from Helena’s hair, she reached back, fingers searching blindly for the switch she knew would plunge the room into darkness, eager for the cloak it would provide.

 

With a lunge, Helena caught her wrist, fingers almost painfully tight as she pulled the offending limb down, pressing it forcefully into the mattress above Barbara’s head. “No,” she said roughly, eyes sparkling with a barely restrained ferocity. “I _need_ to see you _._ ”

 

Taking a deep breath, pushing down the wave of unease that rippled through her, Barbara forced herself to relax, to make herself as terrifyingly vulnerable as the other woman apparently wanted her to be. This type of visibility was something she hadn’t allowed before, not since the accident, but the sincere desire in Helena’s eyes beckoned her to part with a tiny bit of her control, to give the other woman this gift. So she did, raising her other hand to join the one still pinned in Helena’s grasp above her head, posture terrifyingly submissive, hoping but unsure whether or not Helena knew just how difficult it was for her. If Helena knew just what she was being offered.

 

Crawling down the length of Barbara’s body, Helena pulled free Barbara’s underwear, eyes focusing intently on the flesh the move bared. Sliding her hands up unresponsive legs, Helena reveled in the first unfettered access she’d been given, in the free rein she’d been handed. Caressing her way up and over the curve of Barbara’s hips, she slid the tank top up toned arms, casually wrapping Barbara’s wrists in a prison of fabric, leaving her bound but far from helpless. Trailing her fingers back down Barbara’s arms, delighting in the unconscious flex of muscles under her touch, she teased her way down around the curve of full breasts, fingers tracing over the visible path of the other woman’s ribs to nestle into the firm planes of her lower back. Dropping her head down until shaggy brunette hair teased creamy skin, Helena placed soft, reverent kisses on the five starburst scars scattered across Barbara’s lower torso, tracing her tongue along the lines of pinkish gray surgical scars and the mottled swaths of transplanted skin bisecting her flesh.

 

Eyes closing at the sight, at the butterfly tease of the touch, Barbara forcefully untangled a hand, letting it fall to Helena’s head, her fingers winding into the silky hair she found there. Giving a slight tug, she tried to pull the other woman up, to once again make them equal, but was summarily denied. Feeling raw and incredibly, achingly vulnerable at the continuing close perusal, she muttered a pained, “ _Don’t_ …”

 

“Why not?” Helena asked raggedly, unable to separate herself from the allure of Barbara’s flesh. Tracing her cheek along the soft contours of Barbara’s belly, she murmured, “They’re one of your best features.”

 

Laughing self-consciously, head falling to the side and eyes focusing on the far wall without seeing a thing, Barbara managed a strangled, “Please. They’re just old, ugly scars.”

 

Frowning at the words, Helena looked down at the skin she’d been worshipping, taking in the torn and tattered flesh. “I don’t think you understand,” she murmured, placing a light kiss on each scar even as her eyes looked upward, trapping and holding Barbara’s with a searing intensity. “Each and every one of these tried to take you away from me. They just didn’t know how strong you really are.”

 

Shaking her head, a blush tracing up her cheeks at the words, Barbara thought about how weak she really was, how often she’d almost given in to the temptation to just let go. Her scars didn’t represent her strength. They were physical, unforgettable manifestations of her weaknesses.

 

“Yes, they are,” Helena emphasized, then closed her eyes, palms tracing a path up Barbara’s back, trapped between impossibly silky skin and teasingly soft sheets. Then, changing tactics, she whispered, “I used to dream about this.”

 

“Kissing my scars?” Barbara asked, confused and flustered. She wasn’t comfortable with the close scrutiny, with the attention Helena was lavishing on her. For some reason, she was almost certain she would have preferred anything else. Something quick, something rough… either of those would have been easier for her to handle. This, though, didn’t provide her a desperately needed place to hide.

 

Shaking her head, smiling gently, Helena clarified. “No. I used to wonder what it would be like, being with you. Touching you,” she said, voice growing suddenly rougher as her hands slid around to cup Barbara’s breasts, thumbs brushing over already hardened tips. 

 

Mesmerized by the hypnotic quality of Helena’s tone even as she arched into the touch and her shyness abating now that Helena’s attention had been diverted, Barbara asked huskily, “What did you wonder about?”

 

The words were out before she could censure them, and part of her was surprised at her boldness. She’d never really been a talker before, ashamed by the unsteady timbre of her voice in intimate situations. It seemed natural with Helena, though, as if easy words were just simply an expected part of the process.

 

Tilting her head to the side, eyes flashing with interest and amusement, aware of the embarrassment that had followed Barbara’s question, Helena drawled, “Hmm… I wondered about how you would taste.”

 

And then, before Barbara could even reply, Helena’s lips were wrapped around a nipple, jaw working as she sucked the sensitive skin into the warm cavern of her mouth. Teeth scraped harshly, bringing about a delightful mixture of pleasure and pain, and Barbara gasped, fingers instinctively burying in Helena’s hair, pulling the other woman closer. The velvet rasp of a slightly rough tongue soothed the irritated flesh a second before sharp teeth teased yet again, and Barbara lost herself in the sensation.

 

Helena remained in her perch for long minutes, only pulling away to switch to the other side, lavishing as much attention on the previously abandoned nipple as she had the first. Eyes closed, an expression of purely hedonistic joy transforming her face, she drank in the guttural noises flowing past Barbara’s lips, sure the other woman was unaware of even making them.

 

When strong hands pulled her away, Helena looked up to see hooded green eyes looking at her, flashing with an intoxicating gleam of want, desire written clearly across Barbara’s face. The other woman flexed strong muscles, straining to pull her upwards, to join their lips together once more, but Helena resisted, instead sliding down Barbara’s body to settle between her legs, tongue immediately tracing a long path through the lips of the redhead’s sex. The sensation itself was faint, but Barbara moaned, body bucking upward, the sight alone enough to send a wave of heat through her belly.

 

“Tell me what I need to know,” Helena rasped, fingers digging roughly into Barbara’s hips. She was surrounded by Barbara, with her scent and her taste and the warmth of her skin all combining to drive her senses crazy.

 

Finding it hard to hold onto any embarrassment in the face of Helena’s obvious need, Barbara ran a hand through short, silky brown hair, sighing as Helena’s head tilted to the side, cheek resting against her inner thigh. Her words, when they finally came, were painful but necessary. “There are places where I can feel, but it usually takes a lot of time and patience, and even then it won’t always happen. I don’t have any muscle control, really, so I’m not of much help. Aside from that, there’s nothing.”

 

“But you can still…” Helena started to ask, then trailed off, unsure how to properly frame her question.

 

Smiling indulgently, bemused by the utterly adorable look of consternation crinkling the other woman’s features, Barbara said gently, “With me, it’s not all about orgasm, Helena. Everyone always wants it and strives for it and thinks it’s not sex without one, but… I don’t know. Sometimes, it’s almost more fulfilling for me if there’s no race with that as the set destination. I can’t explain it, but being with someone, watching them and touching them and thinking or hoping or just pretending that they love me and I love them… that’s what makes it good.”

 

“Well,” Helena drawled slowly, crawling up until her lips were once again only millimeters away from Barbara’s, bodies pressed tightly together, “I know I love you. No thinking or hoping or pretending needed. I’m the real deal.”

 

Grinning widely, Barbara surged forward on a burst of emotion, intent on stealing another kiss, only to be thwarted as Helena pulled back abruptly, smirking.

 

“Where are you going?” she growled, brow arching in exasperation.

 

In reply, Helena slid her hands under Barbara once more, dragging her upward easily so that the other woman was leaning back against the headboard, body in a semi-recline. Looking at Helena expectantly, she waited, kept in silence by the mischievous glint in the brunette’s eyes.

 

Licking her lips, pleasantly surprised to find a hint of Barbara’s taste still lingering there, Helena grinned rakishly. “I’m not finished telling you what I used to dream about,” she said smartly, easily straddling Barbara’s abdomen, careful to remain where she knew the other woman could feel her. With a promising wiggle of her eyebrows, she eased first one spaghetti strap and then the other from her shoulders, baring the clean lines of her upper chest. Utterly enchanted by the show, a delicious thrill of arousal running through her at the coyly seductive look being sent her way, Barbara waited in silence.She thought she should protest, that she should tear her eyes away from the sight. It was Helena, after all, who was watching her with desire heavy in her eyes, creamy almond skin bared for her to see. She thought she should feel guilty or ashamed, some part of her holding on to the niggling guilt that it really hadn’t been _that_ long ago since Helena had been her responsibility. But she didn’t feel anything other than exhilaration, knowing this very private showing was for her and her alone, the intimacy of the two of them alone, inhabiting a world where it seemed no one else existed, enough to make her mouth dry and her head spin. It was enough to cut free the last few ties of embarrassment and hesitation. She wasn’t going to hold back on Helena. The other woman deserved more than that. And, with the decision made, Barbara consciously pushed her natural shyness away, giving herself over to the heat of the moment.

 

“The first time I fantasized about us together, I didn’t even know really what would happen. I just knew I wanted you, and that the thought of you made me all, well --” she paused, tracing one hand down the length of her belly to flirt with the cotton stretched tight across the vee between her thighs, “-- _hot_.”

 

“Just hot?” Barbara asked without thought, eyes following Helena’s hand with undisguised lust, surprised by just how hoarse her voice was.

 

Brow rising in surprise at the suggestive question, Helena lowered her chin, looking up at Barbara through lowered lashes. Voice low and gravelly, she admitted, “Well, maybe not _just_ hot, but I’m not at that part of the story yet.”

 

Duly chastised and cheeks flaming with embarrassment at her mindlessly spoken words, Barbara pursed her lips. Satisfied that the other woman would be quiet, Helena continued. “I wasn’t sure how you’d touch me,” she said thoughtfully, the hand between her thighs slinking up to slide under her tank, inching it up and baring even more supple, caramel skin. “I didn’t know if you’d be soft and gentle, or rough. I knew how strong you were. I’d seen you in therapy, and found the thought of you overwhelming me, commanding me, very… appealing.”

 

At Barbara’s raised brow, Helena blushed slightly, wondering suddenly if sharing had been the right thing to do. She wasn’t sure how Barbara would take her most private thoughts, wasn’t completely sure what had compelled her to share them in the first place, but since she had started, she was determined to finish. So, with a quick move she whipped the tank off, tossing it away aimlessly, sitting calmly and proudly under Barbara’s intense gaze. She had a beautiful body and was well aware of it, that fact something, at least, of which she could be sure.

 

Barbara, for her part, couldn’t take her eyes off of the sight before her. Helena was gorgeous, with her smoothly tanned skin, her firm yet smallish breasts, and her delightfully delineated musculature. Itching to touch, she deftly slid her hands up the long length of the other woman’s thighs, palms reveling in the contact. A sardonic glance from Helena stopped her progress, though, and the other woman reached down, easily capturing her wrists and pressing her arms back into the bedding. The move brought her lips dangerously close to Barbara’s, and the other woman stole a quick kiss before Helena reared back, smirking. “Not yet,” she reprimanded, the husky note in her voice rolling through Barbara. She felt a burst of confidence shoot through her at Barbara’s response to her, eyes glittering as she slid even further into the moment. She was in a world she understood fully, and was going to use the full extent of her experience and expertise to ensure that her first time with Barbara would sear itself into the other woman’s very soul.

 

“Sorry,” Barbara muttered, smiling unapologetically, her tone making it obvious that she wasn’t sorry at all.

 

Tilting her head to the side, amused expression making it clear that Helena was entirely unimpressed with her apology, the brunette bit her lower lip gently in a pantomime of a tease, a look of pure, unadulterated want in her eyes. “So, where was I? Oh, that’s right… I was wondering how you’d touch me.”

 

A sudden shift downward brought warm, damp cotton in contact with Barbara’s midsection, and she groaned, stomach muscles quivering. Helena merely smiled innocently in reply to the dark look sent her way, voice light as she began to reminisce once more. “Since I didn’t have you there, I had to touch myself,” she murmured, hands sliding up to cup her own breasts. Barbara watched the move through hooded eyes, arousal spiking as Helena’s fingers found her nipples, as they pinched and twisted, the flesh blooming bright red. The brunette’s head fell back, a choked cry erupting past her lips, and Barbara dug her fingers into the sheets, not sure she could stop herself from reaching out and taking over the task.

 

Bringing herself back under control, Helena continued on, voice scratchy, “Only, that wasn’t enough. I needed more.”

 

One hand disengaged itself from the torture of her nipples to slide downward, slipping easily beneath the waistband of her panties to bury itself in the wetness she found between her legs. Eyes fluttering closed, an animalistic moan echoing around the room at the first brush of her fingers over her erect clit, Helena soon had to abandon her breasts completely. Her other hand sank deep into the mattress beside Barbara’s knees, body tilted back as her hand continued to work, and Barbara thought she would climax from the sight alone. Watching Helena, her hand trapped by innocent pink cotton, moving wildly beneath the thin confines of the cloth, chest heaving and eyes shut tightly, was too much. With a growl, she reached up, hands snapping the thin sides of the other woman’s panties, the rendered fabric soon pulled roughly out of the way.

 

Strong fingers pulled Helena away from the exploration of her own flesh, and before she had time to register the change, Barbara’s hands were on her, fingers of one hand sliding through her wetness to delve deeply inside of her, the other bringing Helena’s wet fingers up to her mouth, lips instantly wrapping around them. Snarling, eyes immediately flashing feral, Helena brought her other hand up to cup the back of Barbara’s neck, nails digging into the flesh there in an uneven line. With a surge of her hips, she took the redhead in deeper, nostrils flaring as she brought her head up, eyes burning gold with arousal. Locking her gaze with Barbara’s, she began to ride the fingers buried inside her, hips thrusting upward, body balanced precariously. Already teetering on the brink, the rough scrape of Barbara’s thumb over her hypersensitive clit elicited a scream and the tight clench of her inner muscles, and with sweat beading on her brow, she moved faster and harder, stomach and thigh muscles rippling with effort, until finally her body froze, mouth opened wide on a soundless cry, body racked with uncontrollable spasms.

 

Taking advantage of the momentary weakness of nearly exhausted limbs, Barbara pulled Helena in to her, lips immediately finding the brunette’s. Tongue slashing out, she attacked the other woman. Teeth nipped wildly and her free hand wound through the short hair at Helena’s nape, holding her firmly in place as Barbara ravished her mouth, driven beyond the bounds of propriety by the sight of her lover’s release.Her earlier trepidation had vanished, leaving in its wake nearly painful arousal and the need to touch Helena, to taste her, to hear her scream over and over again. The sheer force of her desire was alarming in its own way. Barbara had never felt so reckless, so out of control, with any other partner.

 

Already eager to continue her exploration of the redhead’s body, Helena pulled away, tracing her lips down the line of Barbara’s throat, the sharp edge of her teeth leaving a line of red marks in their wake. Latching firmly onto the flesh at the base of the other woman’s neck, feeling the irregular flutter of Barbara’s heart beating just below the skin, she eased her hand between the other woman’s legs, surprised by the wetness she found there.

 

Pressing forward, long fingers sliding deeply inside Barbara, she was soon rewarded by a gasp cut short, by the unconscious spasm of the fingers still buried in her hair. Certain she’d found one of the spots she was searching for, Helena looked upward, eyes burning, ragged voice laced with concern as she asked roughly, “Can I hurt you?”

 

The look on Barbara’s face was almost animalistic, her voice a low growl. “I don’t know. Right now, I don’t care.”

 

And, some part of Helena was past caring as well. Pressing firmly against the redhead’s inner walls, she began to thrust, the movements blindingly fast. At the feeling, Barbara’s shoulders rose, unbidden, her body curling inward even as her nails scraped helplessly across Helena’s back, eyes staring blindly off into space, open but seeing nothing. She was aware of little more than the sensation of Helena inside her, the coursing flame of arousal burning through her blood, and the harsh, alien panting of her own breath. She wanted to moan, to speak or cry out or say something, but found herself unable to do anything other than mumble a string of nonsense, the words encouraging despite their lack of lucidity. Already more turned on than she could ever remember being by Helena’s earlier seduction and driven to the brink of madness by the hard, relentless pressure of Helena’s fingers, she tumbled into orgasm, eyes opening wide in surprise even as her body convulsed, as her fingers dug so fiercely into Helena’s back that her nails drew blood.

 

When she collapsed bonelessly, head hitting the headboard with a thump and body still twitching helplessly, Helena followed her, sweat plastering their bodies tightly together. Trying to still her erratic breathing, Barbara ran the fingers of one hand through the brunette’s hair in a soothing, rhythmic motion, the other cradling the slim form atop her own in a tight embrace.

 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Helena moaned, still slick fingers coming up to trace the curve of Barbara’s lower lip. And then, almost as if she couldn’t hold back any longer, Helena leaned forward, capturing the other woman’s mouth with an almost pained moan. Her teeth nipped gently at Barbara’s lower lip, tongue laving the sensitive flesh. She was filled with a restless energy, body refusing to be still as her hands roamed Barbara’s flesh. She craved more, needed more contact, needed to hear the mindless cries she was sure Barbara hadn’t even known she was making.

 

Her mouth was on Barbara’s flesh again, lips wrapped tightly around a puckered nipple, and Barbara gasped. She felt dizzy, chest heaving as she tried to draw air into her lungs. With Helena touching her, lithe body seemingly everywhere at once as her teeth and tongue teased sensitive skin, it was nearly impossible.

 

Nearly reckless with want, Helena slid her torso up Barbara’s, her lips pressing biting, teasing kisses along the redhead’s neck. A delicate ear lobe was between her teeth, drawing a sharp gasp, and then her tongue was teasing the shell of Barbara’s ear, her breath a harsh, rasping pant that nearly drove the other woman insane.

 

“I want all of you,” Helena husked, her closeness making the words seem to come from within Barbara’s own head. Then Helena was kissing her again, one hand wound into her hair almost painfully, the other behind her back, pressing them together with overwhelming strength. Barbara felt like she was under attack, drowning in the sensations Helena was creating. It was almost too much, the overload washing away all thought but that of what was being done to her. Her own hands were in Helena’s hair, holding the other woman to her. She felt an impossible need to draw her in closer, almost as if she wanted to meld them into one being.

 

But then Helena was pulling away, was moving down her body with dedicated intent, and Barbara barely held back a moan as she saw flashing gold eyes looking up at her from between her own legs. Helena was watching her intently, no doubt as to her intent, and Barbara felt excitement roll down her spine in a flash of fire.

 

Slim arms slid up her thighs, lifting her with deceptive ease, and then Helena’s mouth was on her, eyes still fastened to her. Barbara did moan then, the sensations faint but the sight overwhelming. Helena growled low in her throat, unabashed delight evidenced in every movement. She stayed where she was for long, unbearable moments before growling again, lowering Barbara to the bed as she lunged forward. Her lips were on Barbara’s again, her body nestled tightly against the other woman’s as a slim hand traced down. Barbara shivered at the feel of the touch sliding down her skin, nails scraping lightly against her belly before that hand was between her legs.

 

“All of you,” Helena rasped, echoing her earlier words. Fighting her way through the haze surrounding her, Barbara realized that Helena wasn’t just talking about her body. She was talking about far more, the possessive need in feral eyes nearly stealing her breath.

 

“Yes,” she hissed, not sure what she was agreeing to and not quite caring.

 

And then Helena was inside her again and she was lost, the sensation rolling through her. It would never be like it had been before the shooting, but with Helena it seemed like she felt so much. The intensity, especially in light of the virtual dearth of feeling she’d carried with her for years, left her whimpering, body shivering uncontrollably. Her hands were clutching futilely at Helena’s back, fingers flexing almost painfully as she felt the already wild beating of her heart, impossibly, speed up. One hand jerked upward roughly, fingers tightening painfully in the hair at Helena’s nape as she pulled the other woman to her. She needed Helena’s lips on hers, nearly brutal as she kissed the other woman. Barely even aware of the sounds she was making, Barbara drew Helena to her as closely as she could as the tremors began to shoot through her body and she screamed, the cry echoing through the room as her mind was wiped clean, nearly painful pleasure consuming every inch of her body.

 

Moving slowly out of the fog, she snapped back into the present to the feel of Helena’s lips moving softly against her own, the other woman’s hips rocking against her abdomen. Wrapping her arms around the other woman, she looked up with dazed eyes. “Over,” she rasped commandingly.

 

Helena willingly obliged, easing them over so that she was on her back with Barbara’s weight pressing into her deliciously. She moaned at the feel of all that silky flesh against hers, at the seductive feeling of being pinned beneath her lover.

 

The smirk on Barbara’s face could only be described as devilish, and Helena gulped in anticipation as the other woman methodically placed both of Helena’s hands on the bed above her head, holding them there in a light grasp. Short nails trailed down the soft flesh of her arm, drawing a choked cry as shivers raced through her, and Helena looked up, eyes pleading.

 

“Please,” she whispered, body writhing as she strove to increase contact, to feel every inch of Barbara.

 

Barbara wanted to give in to the naked plea, but she didn’t. She wanted Helena to feel like she had, and that process wasn’t going to involve anything quick. Instead, she took her time, trailing her nails down the suddenly super-sensitive skin on the inside of Helena’s arm again, then doing it over and over until the brunette’s head was thrashing back and forth on the pillow, her eyes closed and her teeth biting down on her lower lip in a fruitless attempt to stifle the moans emanating from deep within her chest.

 

Barbara reveled in each twitch of the figure beneath her, each moan and shiver and barely voiced plea. Moving her exploration further down, she continued to torment, her fingers sliding down the silk of the other woman’s sides, up to her breasts and over her quivering abdomen. By the time those fingers made their way to the wetness between Helena’s thighs, the brunette was nearly insensate; the rush of feeling was so overwhelming. But then those fingers were touching her _there_ , and she wrapped her hands around the steel bar above the bed, muscles straining as she tightened, body already tight as a trip wire.

 

“Oh, fuck yes,” she hissed, head thrashing wildly as Barbara watched. The sight of the younger woman’s pleasure raced through her on a wave of power and arousal, and she quickened the movement of her fingers. She watched as the tendons in Helena’s throat flexed, as a red flush spread down her neck and over her chest. And then Helena was looking at her, feral eyes staring sightlessly as her body convulsed.

 

Burying her head in Barbara’s shoulder as the spasms rocked her body, Helena fought desperately to bring air into her burning lungs. Her entire body tingled, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, and she burrowed into Barbara, needing the comfort of the other woman’s flesh.

 

Too exhausted to speak, she slid effortlessly into sleep.

 

Barbara heard the other woman’s breathing even out, felt already limp limbs relax further, and pulled up, taking in the smooth lines of Helena’s face. After planting a light kiss on the other woman’s lips, she tugged them both down until they were lying flat once more. As Helena unconsciously curled up on top of Barbara, body almost completely supported by the one beneath hers, Barbara followed the other woman into sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Helena awoke with an irritated snort, left hand flailing out to search the sheets next to her. She found nothing, something that didn’t come as a complete surprise because she was vaguely aware of having been lifted gently at some point, of a soothing whisper telling her to go back to sleep. Despite her belief that she’d been suitably healed, the loss of blood had apparently taken more out of her than she’d realized, because otherwise she was quite certain she wouldn’t have fallen asleep so quickly the night before, nor remained so when Barbara left.

 

Rolling over, swiping a palm across the length of her face, she blinked a few times, finally bringing everything into focus. She was in Barbara’s room, pale cream sheets tangled hopelessly around her legs, bare skin rippling with goosebumps under the apparently excellent air conditioning system. Images of the night before played across her mind and, unable to help herself, she smirked, the gesture lost on the empty room but fulfilling nonetheless.

 

She’d made love to Barbara.

 

She’d made Barbara scream.

 

Now, if only she could find Barbara, it’d be a good day indeed. Pushing off the bed with that intention, she stopped sharply after only a pair of steps, cautiously sniffing the air around her.

 

Correction… she’d shower, and then she’d go find Barbara.

 

Not that the redhead was insanely difficult to locate. In fact, Barbara was sipping her morning coffee, calmly reading the headlines splashed across the front of the New Gotham Informer, when she suddenly found herself with a lithe lapful of very amorous Helena. In the blink of an eye, the other woman slid nimbly under her arm, immediately nuzzling the patch of skin left bare between the line of her jaw and the fold of her turtleneck as she curled into her lap, and it was all Barbara could do to put her coffee cup down without dropping it to the floor, paper hopelessly ripped and wrinkled.

 

“Good morning,” Helena murmured, nose sliding up the curve of Barbara’s neck until her teeth found a sensitive earlobe.

 

Startled, Barbara pulled back slightly, eyes blinking in surprise. “Good morning to you, too,” she replied humorously, arms wrapping lightly around Helena’s slim form, taking in the heat of the other woman’s flesh through the thin, almost translucent, white cotton undershirt she was wearing. The other woman’s hair was wet from the shower, combed straight back away from her face only to devolve into a mess of erratically jutting ends, and Barbara pushed down the sudden desire to run her fingers through it, to muss it even further. The intimacy of the aborted gesture startled her, not because she hadn’t been used to casual touches, but because the familiarity of it transposed into the new context of their relationship was vaguely disconcerting.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to work,” Helena breathed wryly, moving slowly across Barbara’s cheek, her kisses coming perilously close to the redhead’s lips.

 

Smoothing her palms up the other woman’s back, impressed with the wiry strength of the muscles she could feel coiled tightly along the line of Helena’s spine, Barbara nodded. “It’s a school day.”

 

“Then call in sick,” Helena said immediately, petulantly. Then, suggestively, she added, “Come back to bed. I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

Trying to ignore the tease of Helena’s fingertips against the sensitive skin of her abdomen, wondering just how the other woman had managed to pull her shirt free without her knowledge, Barbara pursed her lips as if in deep thought. “I don’t know. I only have so many sick days saved, and I do have that dermatologist appointment next week.”

 

Pulling back with an outraged huff, Helena said incredulously, “Dermatologist appointment? Barbara, you’ve got great skin. What the hell do you need with a dermatologist?”

 

“I am getting older. It takes more work to look ravishingly beautiful these days,” she said, voice infused with a faux wisdom, and Helena rolled her eyes as she noticed the mischievous twinkle in Barbara’s eyes. Someone had been playing her for a fool, she surmised, and that someone was currently grinning at her, not even bothering to hide her mirth at how easily the brunette had fallen for her ploy.

 

Deciding to turn things around instead of pouting, Helena licked her lips slowly, instantly aware of how keenly Barbara’s eyes followed the movement. “Well, you’re right about one thing… you are getting older. If you need a little extra time to recover, you can just tell me. No need to make up outlandish excuses,” she said with a smirk, blue eyes twinkling at Barbara’s immediate outrage.

 

“Excuses?” Barbara growled, eyes narrowing as she pulled Helena to her firmly, fingers immediately sliding down into the brunette’s loose pajama pants to cup her buttocks. “I’m not the one who turned down a little playtime in the shower this morning.”

 

At the very thought, Helena looked up, clearly horrified. “Did I really? You’ve got to take me to a doctor. Seriously Barbara, there’s got to be internal bleeding going on or something. That’s just not normal. I think I might need help. Do I have a fever? Do we even have a thermometer? You know how to check by hand, right?”

 

A snort of laughter bubbled past Barbara’s lips as she rolled her eyes, clearly amused. “I was just kidding, actually,” she said drolly, a soft smile brightening her face. “You were dead to the world when I got up, and I wasn’t about to wake you.”

 

“No,” Helena said gravely, head nodding knowledgeably and voice full of faux concern. “You were just going to leave me there like a cheap one night stand while you merrily ran along to work as if they actually expected you to be there every day.”

 

“It is funny, the way they almost seem to rely on that,” Barbara mused, eyes sparkling. She’d missed their repartee, even if it never had been quite so intimate before, and couldn’t help but fall back into it, comforted by the familiarity. Familiarity that now seemed somehow right, and this time, she didn’t stop her hands when they slid upward, rapidly cooling wet hair tickling at her fingertips.

 

Sighing, suddenly leaning forward so that their lips were only millimeters apart, Helena whispered, “Really, though, call in. Please… spend the day with me. I finally found you again, and I’m not ready to give you up to boring routine. Stay here, and we’ll pretend like we’re the only people in the world. Just you and me getting reacquainted. You want that, don’t you?”

 

The pleading in Helena’s eyes stealthily stealing all resolve she might have possessed, Barbara nodded her head slowly, closing the gap between them to find soft lips with her own, melting into the moan she felt vibrate through the other woman. There were slim fingers tracing up her sides to brush past her breasts, having made their way completely under the thin cotton of her turtleneck, and Barbara shivered, almost ready to push Helena back onto the table and dispense with foreplay entirely.

 

“Jesus… can I have my breakfast without the porn, please?”

 

The sullen words cut through their erotic haze like a knife, earning a highly irritated growl from Helena as the two women pulled apart slowly.

 

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked peevishly, refusing to leave her perch and in fact draping herself possessively over Barbara despite the stiffening of the other woman’s form.

 

Eyes meeting Helena’s, full of contentious challenge, Dinah snarked, “Yeah, school. Barbara’s driving me, and if we don’t leave soon, we’ll both be late. Isn’t that right?”

 

The last part of her reply was directed Barbara’s way, cold light green eyes catching her own and pinning her with a glare that could only make the redhead glad that the blonde’s telekinetic abilities didn’t include the power to kill by sight alone. Mentally gathering her composure, aware that her answer was going to seriously piss off at least one of the already agitated meta-humans pulling at her, Barbara sighed. “I’m not going to go in today, Dinah. See if you can keep from wrecking the car.”

 

The last was said playfully, and accompanied by a toss of the keys, but did little to combat the scowl deepening on Dinah’s face. It did earn her a little kiss on the chin and a sound of startled joy from the woman curled up in her lap, however, and Barbara couldn’t help but smile at that. Wanting to smooth over ruffled feathers, though, still trapped by the blonde’s baleful glare, she fixed Dinah with an understanding gaze. “Helena and I have a lot to talk about today, and when you get home this evening, the three of us will sit down together and decide what needs to be done.”

 

Still holding firmly to her anger, despite the part of her that had jumped at Barbara’s words, at the intimation she’d be treated like an equal partner in this decision, Dinah muttered, “Yeah, I’ll bet you two get a lot of _talking_ done today.”

 

Deciding she wasn’t going to take any more of the mood-dampening sarcasm, Helena whirled around in her seat, blue eyes narrowing dangerously. “We get it already kid. You’re safe and sound on your little moral high ground, so don’t worry. But, instead of staying here and continuing to piss me off, why don’t you take your holier than thou shit to school, and leave us the hell alone before I kick your ass so hard you don’t wake up until graduation.”

 

“Helena!” Barbara gasped, startled.

 

Now thoroughly miffed, angry at Dinah for provoking her and ruining what had been a rather idyllic morning, Helena leaned back into Barbara once more, sulking. “I just want to be alone with you,” she whispered sadly, suddenly tired. Tired of it all, from the melodrama to the demands of a superhero lifestyle. Now that she finally had Barbara, she found she had everything she wanted, and all she needed was a little time to enjoy it. After everything she’d been through, Helena figured it was the least she deserved.

 

For a moment, seeing them there huddled together, something like exhaustion outlined clearly on Helena’s face, Dinah felt her resolve crack a little. After all, these were the women who’d taken her in, had trained her and taught her and included her as part of their exclusive little group, and maybe they deserved the benefit of the doubt for all of that. It still didn’t sit well with her, but she felt somewhat ashamed of the way she’d acted, for intruding on the obvious happiness of two people she knew were in dire need of it. So, with a sigh, she mumbled, “I’m going to hang out over at Gabby’s for a little while after school. I’ll see ya’ll later.”

 

Then, unable to resist a last parting glare at Helena, she left the two alone, feeling suddenly horribly empty inside,  and irrevocably separate from the obvious bond connecting her two older counterparts. Seeing them together like she had, Dinah had no doubt that if it came down to a choice between her and either of the two, she’d be out on her ass faster than she could say, “Sorry.”

 

“We really do need to talk,” Barbara said softly as soon as she heard the door close, tilting her head to the side so that it rested on a still slightly damp cheek.

 

There was a muffled sound of assent, and then, “It’ll be okay if we do all this talking naked and in bed, right?”

 

Rolling her eyes, backing her chair and the both of them away from the table, slightly thrilled when she felt Helena’s arms tighten around her reflexively, Barbara murmured, “As long as you remember the talking part, then I guess it’s okay.”

 

Looking up with a smirk, ignoring Barbara’s words, Helena said lazily, “You know, I could get used to this being swept off my feet thing. How about I let you carry me to bed every night?”

 

“We’d burn out the motor,” Barbara observed wryly, though she knew the wheelchair was well designed, and could easily manage to transport the both of them everywhere they went if it became necessary.

 

Shaking her head in mock sadness, Helena muttered, “Barbara, we’re rich, but if it bothers you that much, we’ll just buy stock in the company, and every time we have to replace one, it’ll almost be like getting some of our money back.”

 

“Learn that in one of the many money management classes you’ve attended?” Barbara asked dryly, easing to a stop at the edge of her bed, blushing slightly. It felt a little odd to be literally carrying Helena back to bed with the full intention to ravish her completely, especially since it wasn’t even yet eight o’clock in the morning. She felt decidedly naughty, looking down at the pants she’d struggled into less than an hour before and knowing they’d soon be hopelessly crumpled somewhere on the bedroom floor. Helena had left the sheets in a mess, the top one torn completely from its moorings, leaving the bed looking as if it had played host to any number of orgiastic experiences and for a moment, Barbara wondered again just how she’d managed to get herself involved in a relationship with the girl on her lap. Her life just wasn’t… well, it just wasn’t that exciting, superhero drama notwithstanding.

 

Lips pursed in a scowl, Helena eased her hands under Barbara’s turtleneck, inching the fabric up slowly. “It’s far too early in the morning for sarcasm,” she said dryly, “and we’ve got much better things to be doing.”

 

“I’d ask you what those might be,” Barbara murmured, raising her arms slightly and managing to only wince once when Helena ripped the shirt the rest of the way off despite the scrape of rough cloth against her chin, “but I think I have a good idea.”

 

Flicking open the front clasp of Barbara’s bra and spreading the ice blue material wide, Helena trailed her hands up the other woman’s abdomen to cup her breasts, eyes fastened intently on the newly displayed flesh. “I can’t believe you were actually going to go to school this morning,” she muttered, shaking her head in consternation.

 

Remaining silent, unwilling to impart the reasons why she’d pried herself out of bed that morning, not yet ready to expose even more insecurities, Barbara instead shrugged out of the flimsy material of her bra, tossing it carelessly to the floor. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” she asked, voice dipping down to a lower register, and Helena felt her breath catch in her throat.

 

Looking up, finding herself nearly mesmerized by the seductive intent in darkening green eyes, Helena was completely unprepared for the sharp push that sent her sprawling back onto the bed. Landing with a surprised yelp, she immediately curled up to a half-recline, staring at Barbara with a mixture of shock and confusion, all of which shifted easily into a smirk at the sight of the other woman’s raised brow.

 

For her part, Barbara was wondering where this excess of sexuality was coming from. Before the shooting, she’d had an ample, if not extremely active, sex life. There had been Carolyn and Dick, and she’d certainly enjoyed the physical side of each of those relationships. Since the shooting, her sex life had been unfulfilling, to say the least. True, she’d still enjoyed the intimacy of sex, the feel of someone else’s bare skin against her own. It hadn’t been much more than that, though, and as much as she missed the racing of her heart and the feel of being touched in a way that made her head spin, she’d accepted it as yet another thing lost and got as much out of it as she could. She had become used to gleaning as much as she could out of most of her activities, actually, knowing before she even engaged in them that they wouldn’t measure up to anything she’d experienced before Joker’s bullets took away more than just her legs.

 

Not with Helena, though. Earth-shattering would be more apropos, and when she’d awoken that morning with the other woman acting as an impromptu blanket, she’d flushed dark red. The parallel to a much younger, more vulnerable Helena flashed through her mind, visions of the nights the other woman had spent in her bed to soothe away nightmares a disturbing counterpoint to the feel of naked flesh pressed against her own. She remembered meeting Helena, the young woman brash and cocky and a general pain in the ass for the entirety of the AP Literature class that Barbara had taught. Probably barely even 16 then to Barbara’s 23, and now that familiar figure was crawling toward her on her hands and knees, eyes hooded, feral and determined. She wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted with herself or intensely aroused. The night before, she’d given in to the heat of the moment, to her own desire. She’d been more open with Helena than she had been with any other lover. The disjoint between the passion of the night before, the aching pull to feel that connection again, and the memories of Helena as an adolescent with Barbara as her guardian pulled at her, shattering her mind into a million conflicting pieces.

 

“You still here with me?” Helena asked softly, stopping inches away from Barbara. The other woman’s sudden mental absence was almost like a physical presence in the room.

 

Green eyes slowly blinked back to awareness and Barbara focused on her completely, a slight frown tightening her brow. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, chuckling humorlessly. “I guess this is just a little bit harder than I thought it would be.”

 

Sitting back on her haunches, pushing down the hint of frustration creeping up her spine, Helena fought to keep her voice calm as she questioned, “Harder?”

 

Blushing, unable to take the scrutiny being directed her way, Barbara turned her eyes to the side. “It still feels a little wrong, somehow,” Barbara said hesitantly, cringing even as she heard the words.

 

Helena sucked in a quick breath at that, the words coming as a physical blow. “Wrong?” she repeated. “Why?”

 

“You were my ward,” Barbara said softly, wishing that she could have kept her emotions hidden, that she could have fought this battle in private. But now it was out there, and she felt a bolt of panic.

 

Helena clenched her jaw, not wanting to give free reign to the anger she could feel coursing through her system. After the night before, she had thought that Barbara was finally ready for this, ready to give herself over to the relationship. “I’m an adult now,” she said through gritted teeth.

 

Hearing the frustration and anger in Helena’s tone, Barbara sighed. “I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that…”

 

“I was almost an adult when I came to live with you,” Helena broke in, not wanting to hear whatever the other woman would come up with as a new barrier. “And by that time, I don’t really think there was much of my childhood left. Besides, maybe I’ve been wrong all this time, but it never seemed to me like you were taking care of me, Barbara. We took care of one another. You were my guardian because the state said I had to have one. But, that’s just a word, ancient history now. Those things, those roles… they’re temporary. Statuses, that’s all, and they don’t even apply anymore. They aren’t feelings. Feelings are the only thing that matter.”

 

At that, Helena paused, eyes achingly sad. Shaking her head and laughing at her own stupidity, she finished tiredly, “I thought you said I was your equal. I should have known…”

 

“No,” Barbara said fiercely, cutting off whatever Helena had been going to say, guilty enough to know there was some truth in it. “You are.”

 

“You can’t just say it. You have to believe it.”

 

If Barbara hadn’t known better, she would have thought that Helena was on the verge of tears.

 

“So what?” Helena pushed on, trying desperately to ignore the helpless confusion in Barbara’s eyes. “You’re going to tell me last night was a fluke? Been there, done that, got it out of your system?”

 

Trying to calm her suddenly erratic breathing, trying to ignore the bitterness in Helena’s voice, Barbara wished that she could find the perfect words. But she didn’t know them, was hopelessly lost in all confrontations of an emotional nature.

 

“That’s not what I meant at all,” she said, the words weak even to her own ears. “Helena,” she continued, frustration evident in her tone, “I meant it all. Every word. Every touch. Everything.”

 

Sitting back, suddenly exhausted, Helena buried her face in her hands.

 

Cursing herself and her inability to crawl up on the bed and comfort the other woman, Barbara braced her hands on the arms of her chair. Lifting herself up, the long seconds it took to transfer her legs to the bed once she’d managed to shift her torso over… all of it made her want to laugh at the callous cruelty of it all. Everything was a battle, from her body to her emotions to her newfound relationship.

 

“Helena,” she sighed, steadily working herself across the mattress so that she was leaning against the headboard beside the brunette.

 

Even as she wanted to run away, Helena tucked herself into Barbara’s body, burying her face in Barbara’s neck. The other woman smelled like rainwater and flowers, and as strong arms wrapped themselves around her, pulling her in closer, she felt Barbara’s exhalation of frustration ruffle her hair.

 

“I don’t have the strength to do this anymore,” Helena said starkly, weariness evident in her voice.

 

Grip tightening as if she were afraid the other woman was going to flee, Barbara took in a deep breath, trying to make her mind formulate the perfect response. Futile, she knew, but she was going to try nonetheless. “I don’t either,” she said tiredly, cheek rubbing against the silk of Helena’s hair. “I’m tired of running from my feelings, and of feeling guilty for having them in the first place. I’m tired of second guessing myself and feeling inadequate. I’m tired of missing what I can’t have anymore and not grabbing hold of what I can have. I’m tired of trying to pretend that you’re not the most important thing in my life.”

 

She stopped, suddenly afraid that she’d said too much. Barbara wasn’t one to share emotions, always uncomfortable with the sense of vulnerability that accompanied disclosure. It seemed likely that when she did decide to share, she’d do it wrong, say the wrong things, tell too much.

 

Biting her bottom lip nervously, desperately wanting to look at Barbara, to see the emotions she knew were present in normally shuttered green eyes, Helena drew her head upward. She was painfully aware that everything she was feeling was written on her face. There wasn’t much she ever had control over, and emotions certainly weren’t one of the things she could hide away.

 

Placing a gentle hand on the side of Barbara’s face, drawing the other woman back to her when she would have turned away, Helena said softly, “You’re my whole world, Barbara.”

 

Barbara felt her heart skip a beat, then resume at what felt like twice its normal speed. Bringing her hand up, she slid it over Helena’s cheek and beyond, thumb brushing by the sensitive shell of an ear before her fingers buried in soft, dark hair. Pulling gently, drawing Helena to her, she kissed the other woman softly, pouring all of her words and feelings into the gesture, hoping it would convey everything she didn’t know how to say.

 

Moaning deep in her throat, melting into the embrace, Helena slid upward. Both hands wrapped around Barbara, bringing them almost painfully close. She wanted, more than anything, to pull Barbara into her, to merge them into one whole being, not two separate parts.

 

Helena wasn’t sure how long they kissed, but when she pulled back an indeterminate amount of time later, Barbara’s lips were red and swollen and her eyes were glassy. Her hair was mussed, all of the careful styling she had done in preparation for school eradicated by the pull of strong fingers, and Helena wanted to laugh. She’d never seen Barbara look more delicious.

 

“What?” Barbara questioned softly, uncertainly. She saw the amusement in Helena’s eyes and couldn’t help but be self-conscious.

 

Shaking her head gently, Helena reached forward, smoothing the tip of her finger over Barbara’s lower lip. “Nothing,” she murmured, eyes and voice combining in a hypnotic lure. “I just keep forgetting how gorgeous you are.”

 

Eyes dropping bashfully, Barbara turned her head to the side, focusing on the mussed bed sheets. “That’s you,” she demurred, “not me.”

 

“Uh-uh,” Helena chastised, bringing Barbara’s face back around and ducking down so that their eyes met. “I’m not letting you pull your usual shy routine. You are absolutely stunning, Barbara Gordon. Your worst day puts my best to shame.”

 

Grinning despite herself, Barbara said warmly, “You’re a charmer, Helena Kyle.”

 

Smirking lasciviously, Helena looked at Barbara from under lowered lashes. “Perhaps I could charm you out of these pants, then,” she quirked, reveling in the cheesiness of the line.

 

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Barbara said, “I think that will take a little bit more than charm.”

 

Arching a brow, Helena teased, “I’m up to the task if you are. What do you say, Oracle? How’s about a little early morning reconnaissance?”

 

Eyes narrowing, Barbara muttered, “I can’t believe you just said that. I thought you were supposed to be smooth.”

 

“I can be smooth later.”

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Running a slim finger down Barbara’s side, Helena delighted in the shiver the move caused. “Dinah’s going to be home soon,” she said sadly, snuggling closer to Barbara.

 

The other woman looked at her sleepily, hair a wild mess. “I think that after this morning’s display, she’s more than aware of just what we did all day,” Barbara drawled sarcastically. She was, quite literally, exhausted. Helena was insatiable, and she couldn’t remember how long it had been, if ever, that she had devoted that long of an uninterrupted period of time to nothing but pleasure. She’d been drifting in the haze that preceded sleep when Helena’s voice had dragged her back, and she was none too happy about it.

 

Blushing, ducking her head at Barbara’s amused look, Helena sighed. “I know that. But imagining and seeing are two different things.”

 

“She won’t be doing any seeing unless she comes in here,” Barbara pointed out. “And, I doubt she’ll do that. Why are you so concerned anyway? Not to be too blunt about it, but I thought you were currently not giving a damn about what Dinah was thinking or feeling.”

 

“It’s not that,” Helena said slowly, easing back down so she was laying on Barbara’s shoulder. “I just think that we should be sensitive, you know. I’m trying to be considerate here. I can’t believe you’re not supporting it.”

 

“I’m supporting,” Barbara said blithely. “Please, be considerate. Just don’t expect me to get up and join you for it. I need a nap.”

 

At that Helena snorted, and when Barbara looked down at her, the other woman’s eyes were full of arrogant pride. “Tired you out, did I?” Helena teased.

 

“Thoroughly,” Barbara drawled, snuggling down further into the covers. “Don’t ruin it by gloating.”

 

Helena was of a mind to ruin it completely, but as Barbara’s eyes drifted closed, she realized that the fact that she’d done it in the first place was good enough.

 

******

 

With a sigh, Helena let her jacket fall to the floor. Dinah had yet to reappear at the Clocktower and Barbara had yet to awaken from her nap, leaving her with the perfect opportunity to grab a few essentials from her apartment and head back to the Clocktower for some much needed rest.

 

 _Snick_.

 

The sharp pain in her neck was her second clue that something was wrong, and as she felt her knees turn to liquid, Helena came to the sudden and jarring realization that this was, quite possibly, a very bad thing.

 

“Get her in the van.”

 

The voice was far-off and hazy, as if the speaker was 3 floors away on a cell phone with horrible reception, but Helena would have recognized it anywhere.

 

“Fuck,” she muttered, trying to push up on her hands. She wasn’t sure when she’d hit the floor, exactly, but the soft tease of carpet under her fingers let her know she had. Scrambling, stumbling, she managed to make it to her feet, swaying unsteadily as she tried to fight back the blackness encroaching on the edges of her vision.

 

There was a soft chuckle, and then slightly insane green eyes swam into her view. “Impressive, dear. There was enough animal tranquilizer in there to take down a tiger.”

 

The words were followed by a sharp tug, and seconds later Helena saw the needle-tipped glass cylinder slide into her view, a gleaming drop of blood hanging precariously from its tip. “Too much and I could kill you,” Quinzel said speculatively, the hand holding the dart replaced by one holding a gun, the barrel only inches away from her chest. “Guess I’ll just have to risk it.”

 

This time the pain was agonizing, and Helena lurched forward, intent on ripping Quinzel’s throat from its moorings. She had trouble catching her, though, her feet seemingly anchored to the floor, and she tried to go feral, tried to think of any way to burn the sedative from her blood, but as she fell, unable to even bring her hands up to keep from crashing face first into the floor, she knew it was too late.

 

“ _I’m sorry, Barbara_ ,” she said, the words never quite making it past her lips.

 

******

 

She sputtered, coughing as a sudden deluge of water managed to sneak down her nose and into her throat, burning the whole way down. Shaking her head slightly, the minute movement sending her stomach lurching, Helena tried to figure out where the hell she was.

 

“Goody. Our prodigal thief awakes.”

 

Quinzel. She remembered the other woman being in her apartment, remembered the ripping pain of a needle tearing through her flesh. She’d been captured, obviously, caught off-guard by the unexpected nature of the attack following a long and draining day.

 

“Where…” she ground out, her mouth as dry as cotton. It felt as if her jaw had been wired shut and forcibly pulled apart, and her eyes, when she tried to open them, felt as if they were full of sand.

 

“Where are you?” Quinzel asked with a hint of demented glee. “At my lair, of course. All good villains must have a lair. And now I’ve made you my centerpiece.”

 

Biting back the bile creeping up the back of her throat, Helena took in a deep breath and surveyed the situation in her mind. She was lashed to something, hands, ankles, thighs and torso firmly bound. It felt as if she were upright, and when she managed to pry open her eyes for a second, she could tell that she was. She was also completely naked.

 

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Quinzel murmured, and suddenly she was standing right in front of Helena, a soft fingertip tracing over the now barely visible scar left over from the shooting. The finger moved up, sliding over a bruise at the base of her neck. “In more ways than one. Did the delectable Ms. Gordon do this?”

 

Struggling to hold her head up, Helena glared. “Fuck you.”

 

Quinzel laughed shrilly, the sound grating against her already throbbing nerves. “But now you’re used goods, darling. You’ve been tainted by love. Or maybe I shouldn’t care. Maybe I should taint you, make it so that your darling Barbara won’t want to touch you again.”

 

The finger slid down, circling the slight indentation of Helena’s navel and inching even closer to the cleft between her thighs. And then that cool finger was parting her, and she winced, the touch enough to make her want to vomit.

 

Quinzel circled her finger gently, not missing the look of fear mixed with pain on her erstwhile associate’s face. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to get you dirty?”

 

Schooling herself to keep a straight face, Helena looked up with a sneer. “Why don’t we skip the requisite insane ramblings of greatness and evil and move on to why I’m really here.”

 

Pulling away with a pout, bringing her finger up to her mouth, tongue flicking out in a blatantly sexual move to lick a path up its length, Quinzel snarled. “You’re no fun anymore, Helena. You’ve been tamed. You’re just a domesticated little kitty now. So boring.”

 

“Then why keep me around?” Helena challenged, moving her wrists gently, testing the strength of her bonds.

 

Smiling again, this one tinged with blatant malevolence, Quinzel murmured, “You have one more purpose to serve for me, pet. And then, if you’re lucky, I’ll kill you quickly.”

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

It was after midnight, and Helena was nowhere to be found.

 

“Shit,” Barbara murmured, pulling her glasses off to rub at her eyes. “Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. Fuck.”

 

Quite unused to hearing anything like that from the normally reserved redhead, Dinah peered over her shoulder tensely. “Is it Quinzel?”

 

Helena’s comm set had obviously been shoved deep in her pocket, and Barbara was faintly surprised that she’d been able to activate it remotely. The voices she heard when she did were barely discernable. They sounded muffled and far away, but by taping the input, stripping out the background noises and amplifying the content, Barbara was able to hear what was being said as if the people speaking were in the far corner of room. They’d let their guard down, and now they were paying for it.

 

Stiffening, face grim with determination, Dinah murmured, “Can you find out where they are? I’ll get her back for you, Barbara. You just tell me where.”

 

“Oh, Dinah,” Barbara sighed wearily, taking in the teen’s resolve, “you’re not ready. I won’t have two deaths on my conscience.”

 

“I’m not just going to sit here and listen to her die,” Dinah cried out suddenly, barely leashed fury crackling through her words.

 

Green eyes narrowing, Barbara shot Dinah a venomous look. “I’m not either, but if I’m going to save Helena, I can’t be worried about you going kamikaze vigilante on me, do you understand?”

 

“I can’t just sit here,” Dinah cried helplessly, fists clenching.

 

Biting back her own shout, knowing that directing their anger at one another wouldn’t get them anywhere, Barbara said sternly, “Then go train. Just don’t distract me, and don’t get in my way.”

 

Dinah sulked off, to where she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t really have time to worry. She’d fix hurt feelings another day, when the other half of her soul wasn’t dangerously close to death. Hoping against hope that the GPS device hidden within Helena’s comms hadn’t been damaged, Barbara worked to pull up her location, compare it against a map of New Gotham, and lock down where she was located.

 

“Gotcha,” she snarled nearly a half-hour later, pages of schematics covering up the bank of screens. It had taken a little time consuming hacking, but she not only knew where Helena was being held, but she also had managed to seize control of the power and had found the number to the only working phone in the building.

 

******

 

“Boss, it’s for you.”

 

Quinzel nearly yelled with frustration, throwing down the knife she’d been using to trace shallow, intricate patterns in Helena’s skin. “Well, put it on speaker,” she screamed, fighting back the urge to shoot the flunky who had interrupted her fun.

 

Seconds later, the silence in the vast warehouse was broken by a tinny, nearly unrecognizable voice.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Straight and to the point, and Helena’s heart nearly leapt into her chest at the words. The voice was Barbara’s, and even the distorter she’d used hadn’t been able to hide that fact from her.

 

“With whom am I speaking?” Quinzel asked, voice sugary sweet. “And how did you get this number.”

 

“I have my ways,” the voice on the phone replied calmly. “Tell me what you want.”

 

Quinzel sighed. “World peace.” She paused, laughed. “Oops, must have gotten my demands for world domination mixed up with my acceptance speech for Miss America.”

 

“Quinzel,” the voice growled, and the blonde’s laughter stopped.

 

“I see I’m not dealing with a complete fool, then,” Quinzel said coldly, ambling back over to where Helena stood, still strapped to the wall. “I take it you want your kitty back?”

 

Bending down to pick up the knife, Quinzel’s eyes blazed with near insanity as she leaned in and whispered, “Sing for her, kitty.”

 

And then she stabbed the knife into Helena’s side in the exact place where the bullet had done its damage, and despite herself, Helena screamed.

 

“Oops,” Quinzel giggled, remorse completely absent from her voice. “Quite a bit more blood than I was expecting. Wonder how long before she bleeds out?”

 

Blood draining out of her face instantly, Barbara struggled to remain calm. “I repeat, what do you want?”

 

Quinzel paused for a moment as if considering the question in depth. “You seem to be a woman of talent,” she finally said. “I’m willing to make a trade with you. You give me my Mr. J and I’ll give you back your kitty.”

 

“Joker,” the voice on the phone hissed, and Quinzel nearly cackled.

 

“Ms. Gordon, I presume,” she said haughtily, quite sure she was correct in her guess. “I’m sure you remember my Mr. J. He gave you the lovely gift of a chair last time you met, if I’m not mistaken.”

 

Fighting back unconsciousness, not needing to look down to see how much blood she was losing, Helena said weakly, “Don’t do it. I’d rather die.”

 

“And I can arrange that, kitten,” Quinzel said, eyeing the knife speculatively. “But be quiet. The adults are talking.”

 

The voice on the other side of the phone was quiet for a moment. Then, “How do you propose I go about acquiring Joker for you? He’s a prisoner at one of the securest facilities in America.”

 

“You have connections, dearest,” Quinzel snickered. “Just call on Daddy and have him arrange things. I have faith in you. You managed to find us here, after all. Surely you’ve got a few tricks up your sleeve.”

 

“I need assurance that Helena is going to be alive long enough for me to make this happen,” Barbara said roughly.

 

“Well then, I guess you better hurry. Unless kitty has nine lives, you’re going to need to work quickly.”

 

******

 

She wasn’t ready for this. The device was still in testing, and she hadn’t been able to use it for a sustained period of time yet. But, at the moment, that didn’t matter. If she didn’t get to Helena, the other woman would die. She had no doubt about it, given what she knew of Joker and his henchmen. Or henchwoman, in this case, and she wondered why it had taken her brain so long to link Harleen Quinzel to Harly Quinn.

 

It took her longer than she would have liked to load the wheelchair into the van, and the device was bulky and uncomfortable under the thin bullet-proof vest under her sweater. But, thanks to her years prowling the less savory areas of the city as Batgirl, she knew exactly where she was going and wasted no time in getting there, the wheels of the van leaving the road’s surface several times as she took curves at upwards of 90 miles per hour.

 

Nearly 10 minutes later, the van rocked to a halt in front of a non-descript warehouse, and Barbara took a deep breath as she hit the button that would lower the hydraulic gate that would allow her to roll out of the cab and into the biggest challenge she’d faced since she’d been put in her chair. Listening to the hiss and moan of the gears at work, she closed her eyes for a brief moment, wondering briefly if she was crazy, if today was the day when she finally took it too far. If today was going to be the day she died.

 

A cadre of armed men spilled out of the warehouse as she rolled toward the front gate, and the weapons trained on her left a halo of red pinpricks glowing on her breast. At the sight she rolled to a stop, sighed, slowly held up her hands, and quirked a brow. “Is this really necessary?” she asked wearily, hands returning to her wheels as she inched forward. “I want to speak with Quinzel. I think we’re both aware that I’m not really a threat, unless she’s got a crippling fear of paraplegics.”

 

One of the larger men frowned quizzically, gun still trained on her as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a radio. Bringing it to his mouth, he clicked it to life with a burst of static, voice a harsh bark in the cold evening air. “Boss, there’s a lady here who wants to see you. She’s in a wheelchair. Should I let her in?”

 

Quinn’s voice rang back over the radio, shrill and loud. “Now! Do it now!”

 

Shaking his head with a grunt, the man tucked the radio back into his pocket and holstered his weapon. Approaching Barbara slowly, he knelt down, hands going to her calves as he began to pat her down. “Gotta make sure,” he said roughly, though she thought she could see a hint of blush on his cheeks as his hands made their way up to her waist. The blush disappeared into a scowl as he paused there, brows furrowing as he came in contact with the connector belt.

 

“What’s this?” he asked with a frown, pulling up her sweater. He didn’t give the bulletproof vest a second glance, it not the topic of his interest.

 

Trying to sound embarrassed, Barbara murmured, “It’s for my back. It’s from the shooting. The skin there didn’t heal properly, and I have to wear this or risk infection. Peel it back if you want, but I hope you’ve got a strong stomach.”

 

Eyes narrowing, he looked at her speculatively. “It’s not an explosive?”

 

“Do I look like a suicide bomber to you?” Barbara quirked, giving him a shy smile. “I’m here to try and get my friend back, not to try and get myself killed.”

 

“But you took precautions,” the man pointed out, rubbing the thick weave of the high-tech vest between his fingers.

 

Biting her lower lip, willing to give up the vest if it would get her inside, Barbara sighed. “Can you blame me? I thought I could use all the protection I could get. But, you can’t honestly think I’m going to hurt her with a vest?”

 

The man seemed to think it over for a moment, then stood with a grunt. “Fine then. Let her in.”

 

And with that, Barbara began the execution of perhaps one of her boldest ever plans. She rolled into the warehouse, alone and determined.

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“Pretty kitty,” Quinn purred, and Helena opened her eyes briefly, sluggishly, judging from the bright shining haze of psychoticism burning in the other woman’s eyes that she’d finally crossed the threshold into utter insanity.

 

Coughing lightly, tasting blood in the back of her throat, Helena snapped, “Do you ever shut up?”

 

The sharp slap caught her by surprise, and Helena, already weak from blood loss, felt her vision reel. It made her want to vomit, and she barely caught herself, instead spitting the blood pooling in her mouth out onto the floor in disgust.

 

Leaning closer, ignoring the blood, Quinn murmured, “Your knight in shining armor just rolled up. I get my Mr. J, get to snap her neck and finish what he started as soon as she springs him, and get you. Good day for me, don’t you think? Absolutely, positively a red letter day.”

 

Closing her eyes against the swirling nausea she felt, sure Quinn was simply teasing her and that Barbara hadn’t been stupid enough to actually come, Helena rasped, “You’re insane.”

 

Quinn laughed wildly, her joy at the imminent culmination of all of her hard work flowing through her unfettered, and she purred, “Maybe, kitten, but at least I’m happy. Not quite sure I can say the same about you.”

 

Raising her head, pretending it didn’t take nearly as much effort as it did, Helena muttered, “You’re going to die today. I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it. And when I’m done, I’m going to kill your Mr. J, but only after I take him your head.”

 

Tilting her head to the side, peering at Helena curiously, Quinn said almost gently, “You’ve got style and imagination. I like that about you. Too bad you’ve chosen the wrong side of this little war when we could have been so good together. My brain, your abilities… we could have ruled the world, little kitty. Instead you lie to me, try to thwart me, go behind my back like some kind of righteous avenger. I’ll never understand this compunction for good you people feel. It’s hopeless, your silly little quest to right all wrongs, to defeat all evil. Evil is everywhere, don’t you see? It’s the hydra, the phoenix. It will never die, but you will. Your precious Barbara will. Everyone you’ve ever cared about will die, but my work will live on, and if you hadn’t been so stupid, you could have been a part of it.”

 

“Boss.”

 

Rolling her eyes, gritting her teeth in frustration at the interruption, Quinn nonetheless took a moment to smooth her face into calm as she turned to address her henchmen.

 

“Give me a few minutes alone, boys,” she said, voice low and full of menace as she took her first good look at Barbara. She laughed shortly before spinning around on her heel, a vicious and unexpected uppercut catching Helena under the chin and driving the back of her skull into the wall behind her. As she turned back around, calmly licking a drop of blood from her knuckle, Quinn murmured, “I think I can handle this one all by myself.”

 

Casting a worried glance at the woman in the wheelchair, immune now to his employer’s fits of violence, the head henchman said, “You sure that’s a good idea, boss?”

 

Head turning slowly, lips pursed in a disapproving frown, Quinn looked at the unfortunate man for a moment before screeching, “Are you questioning me?”

 

Face growing hard, well aware of the danger of disagreeing with the clearly unstable woman for whom he worked, the man nodded his dissent. “Of course not, boss.”

 

Quinn watched the men file out of the warehouse with a smirk. “I have no idea why he insists on calling me boss. Left over mob mentality, I guess. Comes with the territory when you hire locally.”

 

Trying not to panic at the sight of Helena hanging naked, as bloody as if she were an extra in a particularly gruesome Hollywood horror movie, Barbara said sharply, “I want her taken down, Quinzel. I want to examine her and make sure she’s okay before we go any further. If she’s dead, then we don’t have a deal.”

 

Clucking disapprovingly, easily ignoring the other woman’s words, Quinn began to walk slowly toward Barbara. “I’m intrigued by your bravado, little Miss Muffin Top. You’re more than you seem, a half-bodied school teacher with a baking business on the side. Of course, I already knew that. A shrinking violet wouldn’t have so captivated my Helena. But there’s something more there… help me put my finger on it. Tell me more about yourself, Barbara Gordon.”

 

“I’m not here for therapy, Quinzel. If you want me to get Joker for you, you’re going to have to do as I ask,” Barbara said, eyes focused firmly on Quinzel even as she caught the faintest hint of movement from Helena out of the corner of her eye.

 

Studying her nails with interest, Quinn drawled, “You seem to have an entirely inaccurate perception of this situation, Ms. Gordon. You’re not really in the position to ask for anything, you see. I have under my employ a group of men with very good aim who wouldn’t blink an eye if I ordered them to kill you. I would very much so enjoy taking care of the task myself, actually, and would at least do it with a modicum of style, unlike the hired help. You, on the other hand, are an ex-librarian in a wheelchair, and while I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt because you actually did come all the way out here knowing that you were probably going to die, I’m afraid that I’m going to be forced to point out the obvious here. You’ll do exactly what I say or you both die much, much sooner than you had anticipated. Now, does that make sense to you?”

 

“Killing me gets you nothing,” Barbara said softly, rolling closer.

 

Tilting her head to the side speculatively, Quinn nodded her agreement. “True, it doesn’t get me anything in the traditional sense of the word. But, sometimes the enjoyment we derive from something is just as important as any material good we might receive. Don’t you agree?”

 

Barbara bided her time, watching Quinn wander closer and closer. A hand outstretched in horror, bracing against the doorframe as she’d first rolled into the warehouse and ostensibly steadying her in face of the shock of seeing Helena, and she’d easily transferred the small block of C4. Two steps closer, and Quinn would give her the opportunity she needed.

 

Not receiving the answer she wanted, Quinn approached Barbara rapidly, angrily, hand outstretched in readiness to strike her. “ _Don’t you agree_?” she screeched, hand connecting sharply with Barbara’s cheek. Barbara allowed the first slap, but the second snap caught Quinn by surprise, and she looked down at her shattered kneecap in shock just as the room reverberated with the sonic boom of an explosion. The shock was even greater as Barbara stood, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, and Quinn had barely managed to raise her gun up above her head and train it on Barbara’s heart when the second blow of the truncheon arrived, crushing into the base of her skull and rendering her unconscious.

 

Barbara took a moment to roll Quinn over, ignoring the slowly leaking blood pooling beneath her, securing her hands and taking her guns. Then, fighting past pain that had long since prompted her to bite straight through her lip, she shuffled over to where Helena was hanging, covered now with flecks of plaster and bits of shattered wood debris from the explosion.

 

Helena looked up hazily, saw the vision of Barbara walking toward her, and realized that she’d died. It was most unfortunate, as death still hurt like a bitch and as she’d not been able to go through the extremely long list of things she wanted to do with and to Barbara now that they’d finally gotten together, but she’d long ago learned that there was no arguing with death. At the very least, the grim reaper had indulged in a sense of humor and sent the most welcomed harbinger of it he could find.

 

“You look pretty sexy. Kind of angry, but sexy,” she slurred, wondering if she could convince this angel of death to at least throw some sort of sheet around her corpse so that she wasn’t on display to god and everybody when the police finally arrived. “Do you think you could…”

 

The angel of death stumbled, grimaced, nearly fell into her, and Helena dimly registered surprise that her collector would be so clumsy. Then again, real-life Barbara hadn’t been able to use her legs in years. Maybe this afterlife version of Barbara wasn’t so used to them either. But then her vision straightened and reached for her, hands shaking.

 

“That’s more like it,” she smirked, trying to shake her head to clear the dark grey haze coating everything. “Kind of kinky, but I can roll with it.”

 

“Helena,” Barbara growled, fingers fumbling with the straps holding the other woman in place, “this is not the time.”

 

Helena felt her left shoulder nearly wrench from its socket as her right was unceremoniously released. Groaning, she hung limply, unable to catch herself as her other arm was released. She fell heavily, the strap around her midsection biting into her stomach uncomfortably as visionBarbara knelt slowly, stiffly, to undo her buckles around her ankles.

 

Barbara was beginning to lose feeling in her fingers. They were numb, heavy, thick and uncoordinated. The pain was making it difficult for her to keep focus on the task at hand. Each buckle seemed to take minutes to undo, and she had to grasp hold of Helena’s hips to pull herself off of the floor. Fingers now slick with blood, she fumbled with the straps holding Helena’s thighs, breath coming in harsh pants and saliva pooling in her mouth as she fought back the urge to vomit. Helena was slumped over, head pressing against Barbara’s shoulder as she hung suspended by the last strap around her waist. Barbara pulled roughly, clumsily, tearing off part of her fingernail and ripping flesh with metal as she struggled to pull the last buckle free.

 

Helena felt her world collapse as she tumbled into the vision, sending them both to the floor. Barbara screamed, ripping at the belt around her waist, needing to be free of the pain. She managed to get it off just as the lights began to dim. Using her arms, she pulled them a few short feet before collapsing, unconscious.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“Barbara? Helena?”

 

Something about the Clocktower was eerily empty. As soon as she’d stepped back out onto the main floor, now calm and willing to follow Barbara’s instructions to the letter so long as it meant she got to help, Dinah had heard the muted, insistent beeping of a warning klaxon. She’d expected to hear Barbara’s voice, calm and stern over the comm system as she directed Helena, but there was nothing. No voice, no Barbara – just that insistent, annoying beeping.

 

Dinah climbed cautiously up the ramp to the Delphi. She was half-afraid that Barbara was going to shout at her at any second, that this was some sort of test she was in danger of not passing. But, even though she wasn’t telepathic in the full sense, Dinah was quite sure that she was alone. The place reeked of emptiness, something about it setting her nerves on edge.

 

The desktop was messy, papers strewn and falling on the floor. The computer screens were alive, each displaying something different, and she scanned them, searching for something that would let her know what had happened. A few scrolled continuously, their screens full of an almost hypnotic fall of ever changing numbers – background programs that Barbara had in place, always running, always monitoring.

 

It took her several moments to decipher another screen, but when she did, she blanched.

 

This was the reason for the warning.

 

She’d seen it before but never really paid attention. When Barbara allowed her to sit with her during Helena’s sweeps, Dinah had always been much more interested in the way the other woman hacked into all of the systems she needed to make things run smoothly. Something like simple diagnostics weren’t at all interesting, particularly in comparison to the rapid slide of building plans and lighting schemes and road maps that Barbara could pull up with seeming ease.

 

 _HR. BP._ Simple, easy acronyms. Innocuous. Not even deserving of her attention, until that moment.

 

Heart rate.

 

Blood pressure.

 

And this time, instead of the customary single set of readings, there were two.

 

Both of them were dying.

 

“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit shit shit,” Dinah chanted, channeling Barbara’s earlier panic, her own heart rate spiking. This was major. This was not a test. This was her friends, dying.

 

Fingers trembling, she flicked open her cellular phone, dropping to her knees as she began to frantically scan the other screens.

 

“Wayne Manor.” Alfred always answered the phone as if there was someone other than himself knocking about in that big old house, as if he were actually still a butler with an employer in residence.

 

“Alfred,” Dinah gasped, head spinning. “They’re in trouble. I don’t know where they are. We’ve got to find them.”

 

“Miss Dinah?” Alfred questioned, voice as calm and still as an unbroken pond.

 

Dinah whimpered, hair on the back of her neck rising. “It’s… it’s a warehouse,” she nearly screamed, finding the schematics pulled up on one of the screens. “It’s in the warehouse district. I’m not sure which one. Cross-streets 3rd and Wilson.”

 

“Who is in trouble?” Alfred asked, and though the calm was still there, Dinah could feel the urgency behind it.

 

“Helena and Barbara,” Dinah said softly, feeling a veil of calm shroud over her as well. If she was going to help, she couldn’t be hysterical. She needed to be able to think. “I’m going after them, Alfred.”

 

“I do not think that is a wise idea,” Alfred said sternly, though Dinah could have sworn she heard a hint of fright.

 

“Probably not,” she said, struggling back up to her feet. She paused and took in a deep breath. “They’re dying, Alfred.”

 

Alfred was silent. “Very well, then,” he said stiffly. “I’ll call Master Dick.”

 

******

 

Dinah wasn’t entirely sure how she’d managed to make it through downtown New Gotham without acquiring a police escort. She’d broken every traffic law she knew, had nicked a lightpost with her front bumper, and had almost caused a three car collision. She hadn’t even taken the time to put enough thought into her flight to bring any weapons with her, and had no idea what she was going to do once she found the warehouse. She felt isolated and alone, the comforting reassurance of Barbara’s voice in her ear notably missing as she careened through the streets.

 

Hands tight on the steering wheel, she felt a tear streak down her cheek, followed shortly after by another, and soon her vision was blurry, her eyes stained pink. She was just as likely to get herself killed in this situation as she was to help Barbara and Helena in any way. She wasn’t ready, wasn’t skilled enough to take on whatever she was going to find at the end of the line.

 

She was going anyway.

 

The slim column of smoke alerted her to her destination well before she reached it, and Dinah floored the accelerator, nearly tipping over as she sped around curves.

 

The outer door of the warehouse was warped, a three foot hole buckling the thin aluminum outward. Dinah pushed it open cautiously, all senses on the ready, but the room inside was absent of any threat. Men were scattered around, skin black with soot and smeared crimson with blood. She could hear the rasp of their breathing, the occasional groan of pain. They were alive but not moving. Small licks of fire burned at splintered wood, small steady flames in no danger of roaring into more, as she stepped through the gaping opening that had probably been a doorway at one point. The inside of the warehouse was messy, with debris from the explosion a thick layer on the floor. She spotted Barbara’s wheelchair first, empty and knocked on its side, one wheel spinning lazily.

 

The trickle of blood led her to the slumped figure of Quinzel, hands bound behind her back as she lay in a pool of crimson, breathing shallow and ragged. Her leg was twisted at an odd angle, her hair matted and sticky, and Dinah took in a deep breath. She pushed the sight from her mind, not wanting to think about who might have done that to the psychopathic doctor or what else might be awaiting her.

 

She saw Helena first. She was naked, skin slicked red with blood, flesh flayed open in a pattern of cuts, some deep and some shallow. Her arms were wrapped loosely around another figure, and though Dinah wasn’t sure if the blood on Barbara’s clothing was her own or Helena’s, it was clear that her breathing was shallow and troubled.

 

“No,” she keened, the sound deep and full or despair. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. “No, please no.”

 

She wanted to rush over to the pair and wrap her arms around them, but she didn’t know the extent of their injuries and didn’t want to cause further harm. That didn’t stop her from touching them, mind swirling as the images filled her head. Quinzel’s gleaming smile, frightening and utterly batshit crazy, hovering inches away from her face as she felt the searing pain of a knife in her side. Barbara’s feverish determination to free Helena, despite the pain, despite the corner of her mind that was consciously ignoring what she’d done to Quinzel.

 

“NO!,” she screamed again, jerking her hands back as if they’d been seared.

 

“Dinah.”

 

The word was sharp, short, breaking through the aura of horror. She spun, hands up as she looked at Alfred in confusion, the blood coating them slowly trickling down her forearms.

 

“They cannot be found here. They cannot be found like this,” Alfred said, voice rough. “You must help me, Miss Dinah. We must move them. Quickly. The police are on their way.”

 

“Alfred,” Dinah whimpered, voice trembling.

 

His eyes softened, face crumpling slightly. “Quickly,” he said again, imploringly.

 

Dinah nodded.

 

She couldn’t take them both at once. She was only strong enough to move one at a time, and by the time she deposited Helena on the gurney in the make-shift ambulance Alfred had somehow procured, she thought she wouldn’t be able to make the trip again. But, Barbara was still in there, still unconscious and nearly dead, and so Dinah went back in, telekinetic powers faltering slightly as she began to float Barbara out of the carnage. The other woman’s body was slack in the air, arms hanging limply to the sides and head canted backward, throat bared and vulnerable. Dinah blinked back tears and focused, body on the edge of exhaustion. By the time she was near the vehicle, she was barely able to take a step.

 

“Alfred,” she croaked, panting heavily.

 

The old man seemed to understand. Wrapping Barbara in his arms, he hoisted her the remaining way, settling her none-too-gently onto the gurney before stepping back, hands on his knees.

 

“Master Dick is on his way,” he wheezed before straightening slowly, self-consciously. “He will take care of things here. We must go. Now.”

 

Dinah nodded dumbly, too tired to do much else. She wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to make it back to the Hummer, much less drive it.

 

“Meet me at the Manor,” Alfred said shortly, voice clipped.

 

She pulled away from the scene only a few blocks ahead of the police, losing herself in the twisting maze of streets that ran through the warehouse district. After driving for 15 minutes, she pulled over. She was dizzy, unable to focus, heart nearly racing out of her chest. Barely managing to set the Hummer’s advanced security features, she slumped down in her seat, exhausted.

 

******

 

It was dark when Dinah awoke, confused and uncertain. She didn’t know where she was, or why she was passed out alone in the front of the Hummer. But then it all came rushing back to her, and she straightened in her seat, pulling the seatbelt away from her chest where it had been digging for the past several hours, leaving a strip of abraded and raw flesh underneath her shirt. Wincing slightly, head pounding, she started the Hummer, pulling slowly out of her hiding spot and back out onto the street. She headed away from the still smoking warehouse and out of the district altogether.

 

The manor looked even more ominous at night. There was something gothic about it, no doubt enhanced by her knowledge of all of the dark things its owner had seen, and she shivered.

 

Dinah was slightly surprised that she was able to enter the great hall unheeded. She figured there would be some kind of security, or at least a locked door, but she pushed open the heavy and imposing oak with only a slight struggle. Her footsteps seemed to echo in the foyer, reverberating around the open space, and she stood tentatively, not sure where to go.

 

“I’m not a doctor, Alfred.”

 

She heard the murmured voices long before she saw them.

 

“They need to be in a hospital.”

 

Alfred’s voice was stiff. “I am making arrangements.”

 

“I can’t be held responsible for anything that happens.”

 

“And I wouldn’t dream of doing so, Lucius,” Alfred said kindly. “I appreciate your help, old friend.”

 

Dinah hid in the shadows as the two men walked past, observing the stranger with interest. When she was sure they were out of sight, she pulled free from her hiding place, tracing down the hallway from which they had emerged, opening doors until she found the right one.

 

Helena and Barbara were in side by side beds, each hooked to an array of machines. Dinah had to wonder where the hospital equipment had come from, and who had managed to hook all of it up to the deathly pale duo.

 

“I have much experience in the tending of wounds, both small and large,” Alfred said softly, coming to stand behind her, answering her unspoken questions. “And I had the help of an old friend.”

 

“Are they going to die?” Dinah asked, voice raw and stark.

 

For once, Alfred had no comforting response to offer.

 

******

 

Dinah thought that Pieter Cross was the strangest man she’d ever seen. He exuded a sense of peace that contradicted directly with the thick, jet-black aviator like goggles he wore. When he’d first appeared in the Manor, only hours after Alfred had escorted the mysterious Lucius from it, he had greeted the butler with familiarity, his lightly-accented English soothing.

 

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Alfred, though I wish the circumstances could be less inauspicious,” he said with a slight bow, his hair charmingly ruffled around the thick strap of his goggles. “Let’s take a look at the patients, shall we, and then perhaps a light dinner.”

 

Nearly an hour later, Cross finished his thorough examination. “Your stitches are superb, as usual,” he said with a wry smile. “It is a wonder this one is still alive.”

 

She couldn’t see his eyes, but Dinah had the feeling that he was looking at Helena.

 

“You said you recovered a belt from the scene, ja?” he asked, hands clasped lightly behind his back. “I will need to see it. This one has done something. I do not know what, but it is very bad.”

 

Dick showed up the following morning, inclining his head politely at their new arrival. “Mid-Nite,” he said neutrally, skin pale. He looked exhausted, as if he were going to collapse at any moment.

 

“Nightwing,” the other man said in return, smiling slightly. “It is like a reunion.”

 

Dinah watched from the sidelines, entranced. She’d never seen superhero networking quite like this.

 

“How are they?”

 

“Comatose,” Cross said bluntly. “I have begun transfusions for the dark one. She has lost a great deal of blood. I am frankly surprised that she managed to survive. Her blood pressure is dangerously low, and I do not know what this will mean for her other systems. I must watch her closely, but can do little else for her. She will recover or not, on her own terms.”

 

“And… and…” Dick stumbled, jaw clenching.

 

“The Oracle is a mystery,” Cross offered, disregarding any potential awkwardness. He had worked with Oracle before, had cured her of the Brainiac virus. He knew of her secrecy, but she was not hidden to him. “I am studying the belt found laying beside her. I believe she has been working on a neural transmitter, something that would bridge the gap caused by the break in her spine. It is a brilliant piece of equipment, but my guess is that it was not ready for actual use. It would have allowed her to walk, but the pain must have been overwhelming.”

 

“It was,” Dinah blurted before thinking, drawing everyone’s attention to herself.

 

It was disconcerting to have Cross look directly at her, eyes shadowed behind those enormous goggles, head tilted to the side in speculation. “I touched them,” she sputtered, unnerved. “I mean, I’m a touch telepath and I can… well, it doesn’t matter. I just know it hurt like hell.”

 

Dick laughed hollowly. “Excellent. They’re both as good as dead, Quinn is in a coma with some pretty heavy brain damage herself, and for what? What was worth all of this?”

 

Dinah couldn’t help but agree.

 

******

 

After a few days, Dinah reluctantly returned to school. She suffered the sympathy, “ _Poor Ms. Gordon, in the hospital again_.” She collected cards and flowers and took them home with her, barely able to persuade the givers that Barbara wasn’t up for visitors.

 

She even snapped at Alfred.

 

“I think I can help you with your anger.”

 

Pieter Cross was no less weird to her after two weeks of watching him care for her still comatose friends than he had been the first night she’d met him. He still went around wearing those big black goggles. The only time she’d seen him without them had been during a sleepness night when she’d wandered down into the kitchen for a snack only to find him moving with complete ease in the pitch black of the house. She’d turned on a light and he’d promptly run into a table, his resulting curse in a language she didn’t understand.

 

She hated the way his goggles hid his eyes, and thus his thoughts, feelings and intentions, from her. All she had to go on was his soothing voice and calm presence and the wary respect he seemed to have garnered from Dick, who had been spending half of the week in New Gotham ever since the incident.

 

Given all that, she wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to Pieter’s invitation to join him for twice daily yoga. Something about his gentleness had seemed to undercut the harshness of his expression, with the stark Nordic lines of his face cutting down like blades from his goggles, and so she’d nodded her agreement. In the first few days, Pieter had patiently shown her his routine, only increasing the complexity of the poses when Dinah indicated that she was ready for more, and within the week, they were moving in imperfect harmony. Wayne Manor had an absolutely gorgeous sunroom, positioned perfectly to catch the first hint of early morning sun, and even though she’d never voluntarily gotten up early enough to see it, Dinah found the sight and the routine calming.

 

She wondered if yoga was what had given Pieter the preternatural serenity that seemed to surround him like a shield. Despite the gravity of the situation, she never saw him become upset. Despite his own rather unfortunate past, which she’d gathered from a sketchy search of the Delphi databases, he didn’t appear to have a grudge against the world. Instead, he seemed in harmony with the world and with fate. Of all the superheroes she’d met, and granted that hadn’t been that many, he was by far the most mentally healthy of the lot.

 

Of course, she wasn’t sure that was saying much. Then again, Pieter had been sort of a hero before he’d become a superhero, so perhaps he was simply better suited to the life. Before becoming Dr. Mid-Nite, he’d opened and operated a free clinic in Oregon, though how he’d gotten there from Norway she wasn’t sure. But as a physician in touch with his community, he was uniquely in place to see the scourge of a new street drug sweeping through his patient population and had started an investigation of it only to find out that it was produced by Praeda Industries. Messing with evil corporations was apparently dangerous business, or so Dinah had read in Oracle’s file on him, as corporate henchmen had drugged Pieter himself. The car accident he’d had as a result had stolen not only his sight but also the life of an innocent.

 

She could only imagine how disconcerting it must have been for Cross after the accident - to discover that he could only see in pitch black.

 

“Why don’t they wake up?” she asked him one morning, hands quickly rolling her mat into a coil.

 

Pieter canted his head to the side, the gesture giving away the careful consideration he was giving the question. “The human body is a mystery,” he said finally, accent giving the words a soft lilt. His accompanying smile was rueful. “And this is especially true for the meta-human body. Helena should have been dead. It is only her remarkable physiology that saved her. She had lost more blood than a normal human would have been able to tolerate. It is my guess that part of her sleep is restorative. Her body’s reserves have been tapped and must be replenished. It is also my belief, not scientifically provable, that her mind must also recover. She realizes, I think, that she is in a safe place, surrounded by people who care for her. She will take her time to recover, ja, so that when she returns, she will be the strong, healthy woman she was before. She will not return to us weakened. She will return to us ready to fight.”

 

“Sounds like Helena,” Dinah grumbled, rolling her eyes.

 

“And the Oracle, Barbara. She has done her body grave damage. Her systems are already compromised. With the use of her neural device, she has strained the limits of her capacity. I do not know why she remains in a coma. Ja, her body must recover. Of that I am sure. But, I do not know how long this will take or what it will entail. Here, we can provide them both with the best treatment available and monitor their progress,” Pieter said, voice soft and introspective, “but they will decide whether or not to return to us. You know, I think, that there is more to life and living than the biomedical world can predict, diagnose, and repair.”

 

Dinah wasn’t sure she knew that, as she often had the feeling that Pieter was operating on a different plane than she – one filled with ruminations on the mind-body-spirit connection – but she nodded nonetheless. It was intuitive in a way, in that sort of ‘miracles’ sense that she’d always wanted to believe. It wasn’t particularly comforting, given that she didn’t know the particular variables that went into the equation and which would signal success, but she chose not to dwell on that aspect.

 

******

 

Dinah wasn’t sure who was more surprised the morning she encountered Dick on her way to the sunroom for her early morning yoga session with Pieter.

 

He had appeared at the doorway to what she was fairly certain was Pieter’s room, dark hair tousled in a way that left her mouth a little dry. He had his shoes in his hand, creeping softly in socked feet, and the two of them nearly collided as he turned her way.

 

“I… uh…”

 

They both stammered, Dick’s face almost as red as Dinah’s, and then Pieter had appeared in the doorway to his room in his usual loose shorts and tee-shirt, yoga mat slung casually across his back.

 

“You will forgive me for being late this morning, Dinah,” he said, his tone as calm as ever, “but I will escort Dick out before meeting you. If you wish, you may begin without me.”

 

Dinah didn’t begin without him. Instead, she unfolded her mat and sank down onto it, legs crossed in a full lotus and hands resting, palms up, on her knees as she watched the sky move from navy to lavender.

 

Pieter entered on silent feet, unfurling his mat next to her, and assumed a similar position. As they watched, hints of rust, coral and amber began to streak across a sky headed quickly for vermillion, and the heavy, bloated disc of the sun came lumbering into view.

 

“Shall we begin?” Pieter asked, giving Dinah what she surmised was an expectant look.

 

She gave a wry smile and a small nod in return and they moved easily into their surya-namaskar.

 

An hour later, Pieter said cautiously, “Dick is, for some reason, worried about your reaction to what you witnessed this morning. I do not feel as if he has anything about which to be concerned. Am I wrong in this?”

 

For some reason, Dinah felt a surge of affection for the always reserved Pieter. It had been a bit of a surprise seeing Dick emerging from his room, and she couldn’t help wondering just when this blossoming romance (and she chose to view it in its best possible light by labeling it such) had taken root. But, either way, she was glad for both Pieter and Dick, both of whom seemed quite nice enough for each other.

 

“You’re not wrong.”

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

“Ow. Jesus, fuck.”

 

Dinah had been in the manor long enough to have dropped off her bookbag and fixed herself an afternoon snack before dropping in on Barbara and Helena when she heard the curse. Dropping her plate to the floor, heedless of the way it shattered, she raced down the hallway, almost skidding past the doorway of the impromptu intensive care unit.

 

“Pieter,” she screamed, eyes opened wide. “Pieter, come quick.”

 

Helena’s eyes narrowed as she pushed up onto her hands, wincing as long unused muscles protested the movement. “Why are you yelling?” she asked crankily, words slightly slurred and groggy. “And what the hell…”

 

Pieter arrived, cheeks flushed red with exertion, as unsettled as Dinah had yet seen him. “You must lie back,” he said, voice sharp with demand and worry.

 

Helena didn’t look the least bit accommodating as she continued to push and wiggle herself into a seated position, face schooled into a mask of unyielding irritation. The numerous cuts that Quinn had inflicted had long since healed, slowly at first and then with a rapidity that had seemed to indicate that she was improving, leaving only a patchwork of pinkish-silvery lines etched across her torso.

 

“Who the hell are you,” she asked coldly, “and where’s Barbara?”

 

The second the words were out of her mouth, her brain caught up with them and Helena began to search her surroundings frantically, head whipping from left to right. There she saw the other woman’s form, still and unmoving and incredibly pale against the white of the sheets below her, and Helena gave a low keening cry that seemed to reverberate through the manor. Fingers tearing frantically at the IV leading into the back of her hand, she was up and off the bed before Pieter had time to get to her, legs collapsing immediately to send her crashing to her knees into the thick pile of the carpet below. Barely managing to catch herself on her hands, still dangerously weak after weeks of inactivity, she was struggling up onto her feet again when the doctor reached her.

 

“I am Pieter Cross,” he said, placing his hands under her arms as he helped her to a standing position. He urged her arm around his shoulder and steadied her on her feet, supporting most of her body weight as he allowed her to walk slowly over to Barbara’s bed. “I am a medical doctor and have been in charge of your care since you were injured.”

 

Dinah wasn’t sure if it was horror, despair, or Pieter’s calming influence that had kept Helena from doing anything more rash than she already had, but the other woman allowed herself to lean heavily against him, eyes focused with unwavering intensity on Barbara’s face.

 

When they reached Barbara, Helena pulled her arm from around Pieter’s shoulders, using it to balance herself as she leaned over the other woman’s still form. Hand trembling, she traced the sunken planes of Barbara’s cheeks with her fingers before bending over to place a soft kiss on her lips. Tears began to course down her face, a precursor to the indefinable sound of pure grief that came from deep within her chest in the next moment. Dinah looked at her in alarm, then glanced at Pieter for guidance. But, there was no guidance to be gleaned, his face impassive and his eyes hidden behind his dark goggles. And so she watched, helpless, aware that Helena did not need or want her comfort in this moment.

 

******

 

They left Helena asleep in Barbara’s bed. She had managed to lever herself up and had wrapped herself around the other woman’s still form before either Dinah or Pieter had thought to stop her, and once there they knew she wouldn’t be leaving soon. And so they had drawn back as she continued to cry, her grief soon giving way to exhaustion. Before they’d left, Dinah had drawn a sheet over her, hand affectionately pushing back the lank fall of Helena’s hair.

 

“Dick had told me they are close,” Pieter murmured, “but I had not understood.”

 

Dinah merely nodded, not quite sure she had completely understood either. Pieter had told Helena, the words perhaps falling on deaf ears, that Barbara was not dead and that there was every chance that she would recover. Dinah couldn’t help thinking that the sight of Barbara laying there, probably as still as she had been in her hospital bed after her shooting, had left Helena unable to separate one event from the other. She merely knew tragedy and hurt and that was enough to make the rest meaningless.

 

They were silent for another moment, each grave. Then, Pieter nodded as if to himself, his voice low as he said, “Come. For now, we cannot do anything for her so we will have our yoga. I am in need of balance.”

 

Dinah had found it impossible to find her rhythm. Her mind would not clear, her body would not calm. She could hear the almost inhuman sound of Helena’s grief still echoing in her mind, the sound making her want to break out into sobs, and at the end of their hour, her body was just as tight as when they had began.

 

Later, Dinah collected a tray from Alfred and approached the room cautiously. Helena was awake, staring at Barbara with unblinking eyes. Her fingers were fluttering over the contours of the other woman’s face, resting briefly on her chest as if to divine the rise and fall that signaled life.

 

“It’s real food,” she joked weakly, easing the tray onto the small, portable table that had yet to be used in service of food. “You’ll want to eat.”

 

For a long moment, it appeared as if Helena was going to ignore her. Finally, she said softly, “I dreamed that I was dead and Barbara stood up and came to me.”

 

“She, uh… she probably did,” Dinah said, mouth dry. “Helena, I don’t know how much you remember about what happened, but here’s what we’ve been able to piece together.”

 

Dinah laid out the facts as she had gleaned them through her incidental scan of both parties. Helena had arrived back at her apartment and been captured by Quinn who had taken the opportunity to inflict a lot of damage. Barbara had gone after her on a dangerous rescue mission. She’d taken with her the neural device found at the scene, the one that had allowed her to walk and to defeat Quinn and which had resulted, at least in Pieter’s opinion, in her current comatose state. Filling in the rest with her own experience, Dinah described how she had found them, how Alfred had helped her transport them, how Pieter had arrived to help bring them back to health, and how three weeks had passed in the interim.

 

“She was crazy,” Helena muttered as the story drew to a close. “Absolute, batshit crazy.”

 

Dinah wasn’t exactly sure to whom Helena was referring and so kept quiet, gently pushing the tray of food closer in a subtle attempt to get Helena to eat.

 

“How is she?”

 

Which meant that it had been Quinn, then, to which Helena had been referring. Dinah shrugged, looking off to the side as she answered, “Permanent brain damage. The doctors don’t know the extent. Barbara whacked her pretty hard.”

 

“Good riddance.”

 

Somehow, Dinah wasn’t completely convinced that Barbara would see things the same way when she awoke. If she awoke.

 

“This is my fault,” Helena said, her voice raw and broken. “If I hadn’t gotten involved with Quinn, if I’d asked for Barbara’s help from the beginning instead of thinking I could do it all on my own…”

 

“No,” Dinah interrupted, her voice firm. “You can’t start with that.”

 

Helena shrugged, the gesture disturbingly apathetic. “It’s true.”

 

Well aware that arguing with Helena wasn’t going to do much good, Dinah sighed. “She’ll come back to us. She’ll come back to _you_.”

 

The look Helena sent her way was chilling. Her eyes, always so full of fire and emotion, were flat and dead.

 

“She has to,” Dinah whispered, shivering, once again worried for them both.

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

Barbara had been drifting comfortably and peacefully in the black for a long time, the extent of which she couldn’t exactly measure, but something told her it was time to go back. She was torn about this feeling. The black slid over her like the most liquid of silks, as undemanding as it was luxurious. The force pulling her back was hungry and needy. It was raw, jagged in a way that made her ache, and it was nothing if not demanding. But it was strong, sucking her farther and farther away from the inky darkness and back toward the harsh, unforgiving light, and she cringed away from the force of it.

 

She had the sense of emerging from a deep sleep. Her fingers were leaden, unable to even grasp weakly at the suddenly stifling blanket covering her, and her back ached from the pressure put on it during unconsciousness. She slowly became aware of the awkward sense of incompleteness, of the psychic phantom presence of limbs that no longer worked, and for a moment, it was as if she was waking up in the hospital once again, the kind face of a sorrowful physician looming over her, telling her in kind tones just how her life had been changed.

 

One side of her was heavier than the other. It was pressing into the mattress, pinned in place by an external force, and it wasn’t until she finally managed to coordinate thought to action and turn her head that she saw a shock of ruffled hair.

 

“Hel…” she said, the word petering out as a dry tongue and dry lips refused to cooperate. She swallowed painfully, her throat surprisingly raw, and tried again. “Hel…”

 

It took a moment for the body pressed against hers to stir. Helena had never been one to transition smoothly from sleep to wakefulness, and so it took several long, sleepy moments for her eyes to focus and for her brain to engage. When they did, though, and when she managed to comprehend just exactly what was happening, she shot straight up in the bed, chest heaving as tears began to roll down her face.

 

“You’re back,” she said, leaning over with a jerky suddenness that would have startled Barbara had she been completely conscious herself. Helena pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then scattered them across the other woman’s face like rain. “You’re back,” she said again, the words whispered with the reverence of a prayer.

 

“Where’d I go?” Barbara asked, not recognizing the words as funny until Helena barked with surprised laughter.

 

Helena pushed herself up on her hands, her face hovering over Barbara’s. “I thought you’d left me.”

 

“Why would I leave? I just got you back,” Barbara pointed out, still vaguely confused.

 

“And now I’ve got you back,” Helena said, her relieved smile wide and beautiful.

 

Barbara’s brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle things out. “So we got each other back?” she asked hesitantly, hope lilting through the words.

 

“Yeah,” Helena said softly, leaning down to kiss her once again. “We got each other back.”


End file.
